


In Your Gaze I Wish To Stay

by scurvaliciousbay



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Frilly Cakes, Love, Romance, Smut, Solavellan, Swearing, alcohol consumption, any CWs will be posted at the beginning of the chapter in the summary, consensual sexual acts, friendship to romance, relationship, same goes for nsfw and sfw chapters, sexual acts, side Doribull, side Fenhawke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-04-30 07:29:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 49
Words: 276,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5155412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scurvaliciousbay/pseuds/scurvaliciousbay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How does an old elven rebel god fall in love with a young Dalish positive hunter? With cake, fluff, and a whole lot of surprises! They weren't always in pain; in fact, that's what made the pain so much worse - they were once happy.<br/>An exploration on how Solas fell in love with Miriel Lavellan since I felt like there was a lot in the game that was unsaid. Slow-build leads to eventual smut. Mostly canon compliant. Lots of fluff but gets more serious as story progresses. Updates on Fridays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SFW. She was not what he was expecting - and that's not a bad thing.

She was…not what he was expecting. When Solas had arrived in Haven, it had been too late. The Veil had been ripped open as if with a serrated knife instead of carefully removing stitch by stitch with a precise needle. The effect had been even more catastrophic than what he had believed possible. The bastardization of his magic, the sundering of the Veil…the resulting explosion had killed many, most of whom Solas suspected were decent, perhaps even good, people. But all of that, all of the ensuing chaos and destruction, was in a way expected when he learned that Corypheus did in fact possess a way to unlock his orb.

What wasn’t expected was what was more interesting. Miriel, a hunter from the Dalish elf clan Lavellan, had been at the Conclave to spy on the humans. This alone was cause for mild intrigue since the Dalish seemed to spurn everything related to humans (though he supposed they had good cause to). Add to the fact that she had somehow ended up stealing the Anchor from Corypheus in what Solas was sure in a bout of dumb unfortunate luck. She had then walked physically through the Fade and did not die? It was a miracle. A word that Solas did not use lightly, but that was what it was. Absolutely miraculous. By stealing the Mark, by polluting it from Corypheus, she had kept the Veil from being improperly torn and sundered. She could also appear to repair the tiny tears in the Veil, Rifts they were calling them. Yes, he had turned his magicks on her to keep the Mark from killing her, though only after seeing if he had enough power to transfer it to himself. He had woefully been unable to do so. Even with the Breach and the numerous Rifts, Solas’s connection to the Fade was incredibly weak and having only been awake for a year…he was in no shape to remove such a powerful manifestation of his own magic.

And out of all that, out of all of the impossible feats she had accomplished before she had even said a word to him, the most surprising thing about her was…herself. When he had first seen her, she had been unconscious and the room dark, but he had seen her Vallaslin. Dark markings of blood and ink curled on her skin in the pattern dedicating her to Andruil. Calluses on her hands and lithe muscle indicated that she was a hunter. It meant that she was an elf completely sundered from the Veil. He pitied that she would never know the comforting embrace of magic. Upon seeing her face, he had expected her to be belligerent, superstitious, and all around annoying. But Miriel of clan Lavellan was none of these things.

She was constantly touching the world around her. A flower, elfroot, even her feet seemed to grip and grasp at the dirt beneath them. She was always somehow interacting with the world, talking to Varric or touching everything even when she most likely knew better. But he didn’t think she did this consciously, it was just a way for her to learn her environment as efficiently as possible. He supposed it was logical that a hunter would need such efficient information while pursuing prey, but he had never witnessed this level of interaction before. She also seemed to touch Cassandra or Varric every time she spoke to them. A hand on the shoulder, an elbow to another elbow – nothing flirtatious, just…physical. 

The Herald was precise in her interactions, however. She never harmed anything unless she truly intended to. The elfroot, various flowers, even the rocks all received gentle almost reaffirming touches. It was curious to watch, and Solas found himself watching a great deal. At first it had begun by simply observing the Anchor on her hand, but that meant watching the hand move and touch anything within reach. It was such an odd behavior that it activated his own curiosity, which led to him observing more of her behavior. For instance, unlike the prejudice he had personally experienced at the hands of the Dalish, the Herald appeared to be extraordinarily comfortable conversing with Varric and Cassandra. In fact, she appeared to quite enjoy the dwarf’s company.

They were currently traveling through the Hinterlands, making their way to the Crossroads to speak with Mother Giselle of the Chantry. It had taken them four days of awkward travel to make it to the Hinterlands from Haven. Varric seemed to talk non-stop, rattling on about the adventures, or rather exciting mishaps, he had with the Champion of Kirkwall. They were a day’s travel away from the Crossroads when the dwarf suddenly turned his focus to the Herald. He appraised her before smiling.

“Hey, Buttercup, have you ever played Wicked Grace?” The dwarf asked.

“No, is it a test of agility?” She replied, cocking her head to the side.

“Not exactly, it’s a card game. I’ll teach you how to play.”

“It is not appropriate for the Herald to learn how to gamble, Varric,” Casandra had chastised.

“I would love to learn!” Miriel said quickly. Solas had to resist smiling. She had been quick to denounce the idea that she was anything close to holy and the reminder that there was this perception of her clearly bothered her. But she did not fight this perception with words, but rather actions. Solas could respect that. That night at camp, Varric showed Miriel the ins and outs of playing Wicked Grace.

“Would you like to join, Solas?” Miriel asked, her gold eyes bright in the firelight as she smiled. Solas shook his head as he returned to his book.

“I am not one for gambling.”

“Of course you’re not, Chuckles.” Varric said.

“Why ‘Chuckles’?” Miriel then asked.

“Because of his winning sense of humor! Why? Do you not like it?”

“I would have gone with something like ‘Broody’ or ‘Baldy’.”

“Already got a Broody, and as for Baldy, it’s too obvious.”

“Who’s Broody?”

“You mean you don’t know the story of the Champion of Kirkwall?”

“Oh Maker,” Cassandra groaned before Varric then began to tell tall tale after tall tale of Hawke and her companions.

“You know another of the Dalish! What did you call her?” The Herald commented as Varric introduced Merrill into the story.

“Daisy.”

“And I am…”

“Buttercup.”

“Why a flower? I am a way deadlier than a flower, maybe...Dagger! Or Deathroot!” Miriel exclaimed, very eager to change her nickname to something that she believed more palatable.

“Nah, you’re Buttercup through and through. Soft, glowing, bringing joy to children and animals? Buttercup!” 

“Why doesn’t Hawke or Aveline have a nickname?”

“Not this again…” the conversation over Wicked Grace continued into the night. Solas kept himself removed, determined to remain as the aloof apostate. These people were unimportant and had to remain so. Getting attached, feeling anything would be problematic and make the future that much more difficult.

But not getting attached meant not finding Varric’s tales enjoyable or Cassandra’s faith commendable. Fine, he may like them, but he could not possibly like or enjoy the company of the Herald. She was the antithesis of the People he was trying to save. Proudly Dalish, effusive, and decidedly not a mage? They had similar ears, but that was where the similarities ended. 

They were camped by Lake Luthias, preparing to meet with Mother Giselle the next day when Solas decided he wished to enjoy the old memories of this place. They had passed by Calenhad’s Tower during their travels that day and he was eager to see what memories lingered still at the ruin. So he quietly packed a bag and made his way to the ruin, ignoring signs of danger and sticking to shadows to go unnoticed by both the wildlife and whatever hostile Templar or mage was about. 

Solas snuck easily into the tower and set up his wards. He unrolled his bedroll and went to sleep. That night he saw ancient battles of Avvar wrapped in furs, painted with kaddis and knights clad in steel. He woke later in the night after dreaming of a particularly rousing battle in which not even the spirits could remember exactly why it was being fought. It was still dark, the sun only just barely beginning to peek over the horizon. Solas sat up and supposed that he would have an early start to the day. 

He performed his routine mana cleanse and quickly shaved his head with assistance of a spell and an enchanted razor. He packed up his things, deactivated his wards, and left the tower to head back to camp. As he left the structure he was greeted with a sight he had not been at all expecting.

There was just enough light for Solas to see the Herald sitting atop the wall of the ruin, leaning back against the structure, her bow in her lap. She was clearly awake, keeping some sort of vigil. Solas’s brow furrowed in curiosity.

“Herald? What are you doing?” He asked and her head whipped towards him. 

“Oh, well, I saw you wander off and when you didn’t come back for a while, I got worried. I tracked you to here…a ruin in the middle of a war torn area. I wanted to make sure you were safe, Varric and Cassandra are used to traveling together and know how to look out for one another, so I came here, kept watch. You sometimes mumble, by the way,” she babbled her explanation and Solas found himself…surprised. He had not expected her to watch over him.

“Oh, thank you, but I am more than capable of watching out for myself.” He said and he thought he saw the glint of a smile.

“Oh, so I should have just you left you alone then…with the pack of dogs that was thinking of making residence in the tower?” She asked, a gentle teasing note in her voice. The edges of his mouth turned up into a hint of a smile.

“Ah, well, then you have my thanks,” he replied and she shrugged, hopping down from her roost. 

“It was nice actually, I haven’t held a watch like this since I left my clan.” She stretched her back. He shifted his weight on his feet before nodding his head, again about to head back to the camp.

“Oh wait! I gathered some berries, I am always hungry when I wake up, figured you would be too,” she handed him a small pouch of berries.

“That is very kind of you, Herald, but I am not hungry,” and of course just as he said that his stomach decided to growl rather loudly. The Herald quirked a brow at him and shook the bag insistently at him.

“Take the food, seriously, I am a hunter, the purpose of my work in the clan is feeding people. I will feed you, dammit,” she said playfully. Solas begrudgingly took the pouch and reached in, finding blueberries. He loved blueberries. 

“It seems you have helped me twice this eve, I shall endeavor to return the favor,” Solas remarked but instead of smiling, Miriel frowned and looked at him curiously.

“I didn’t do this for a favor, Solas. I did it to help you, I don’t…look, in the clan we all look out for each other. I figure since we’re traveling together, you’re like my temporary clan, we look out for each other. We are only as strong as the weakest person…so eat up, we have a long day ahead of us,” she said before turning on her heel and heading back to camp. Solas stood there somewhat stunned and surprised. Her acts…she claimed she was not doing this for any sort of anticipated reciprocation. She also had claimed that she thought of him as part of her ‘temporary clan.’ He bristled at the idea of being any part of a clan, but if it was what she needed to get her to work closely with people she would never have worked with otherwise…he would tolerate it.

**

Mother Giselle was insistent that the Inquisition should go to Val Rayoux to speak with the clerics. She claimed that if the fledgling organization could gain enough political clout and reputation that they would be able to speak to the clerics and perhaps even recruit them to the Inquisition’s cause. While Solas did not particularly care for the Chantry, he did know that having their support in their current endeavor to seal the Breach would be very much welcome. 

The Herald was also determined to make the lives of the refugees better. She had accepted a number of quests to get food and other resources for the people left homeless by the war. It was a commendable attitude and he fully supported it. She was quickly proving to be a bit of a surprise – never before had he come across a Dalish with such innate compassion and tenacity. It was a potent combination, and he was happy to see it. He would hardly want the person bearing his mark to be a heartless cretin. No, her compassion and apparent determination to do good were things to be happy about. She would not consciously do harm to the world and its peoples, in fact, she would use her power to help them, just as she was doing now. 

It was this attitude that drew him somewhat from his aloof façade and began to prick away at his curiosity. He wondered exactly why she was unlike any of the Dalish he had met previously or heard about. He wondered at the fortune that she, a woman of light and good, were to come to be in possession of the Anchor. 

“The chosen of Andraste,” he mused as they walked, “a blessed hero to save us all.” Miriel cast a glance back at him and smiled.

“Am I riding in on a shining steed?” She asked playfully. Solas found himself smiling in response.

“I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly, they’re extinct.” He played along before becoming more serious, “Joke as you will, posturing is necessary.” He paused for a bit, allowing the group to make headway through a rough patch of terrain.

“I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I've watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten.”

“Right, because that’s not weird,” Varric grumbled. Solas chose to ignore the dwarf and continued.

“Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.” It was a question without actually being a question. He hoped that she could clarify her spirit to him, so that he could judge how to properly react to her. Was what she said true about not expecting him to return the favor of her watching over him? Or was she simply another seeking to slyly benefit from the misfortune of others?

“What do you mean, ruins and battlefields?” She asked and he smiled. It seemed that she would have more information out of him before he would have his answer. Or perhaps her curiosity was his answer.

“Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.”

“Is that what you were doing last night?” She asked and he nodded.

“Yes, I wished to see what dreams held for me there. More battles and glory to people that history has long forgotten the names of. Usually I am much safer, leaving food out for any wild beasts that may happen upon me.” He explained with a small smile. She nodded and paused as she contemplated what he did. 

“I’ve never heard of anyone going so far into the Fade. That’s extraordinary,” her reaction was surprising. He had expected something more along the lines of Varric’s reaction. It was weird or bizarre, not extraordinary. But the Herald was quickly proving to be the exception to many cases.

“Thank you. It is not a common area of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning. The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand year old dream? I would not trade it for anything.” She listened intently to him and nodded. Solas then made a spot decision.  
“I will stay then, at least until the Breach has been closed.” He had not made this decision formal yet, and he felt more comfortable in making this known now that he knew that Miriel was at least an honorable woman.

“Was that in doubt?” She asked. He turned to her, serious in the concern that he felt.

“I am an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces and unlike you, I do not have a divine mark protecting me. Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.” His words were not mean to accuse Cassandra or the Chantry of being intolerant of his presence, but rather his fear that they would eventually become intolerant. It was a reasonable fear, and she stopped to look Solas in the eye.  
“Of course I understand. You came here to help, Solas, I won’t let them use that against you,” her eyes were an intense gold that resembled the ancient Elvhen more closely than her ears. 

“How would you stop them?” He asked softly, unsure of the alliance that she suggested at having.

“However I had to,” she answered without hesitation. 

“Thank you,” he replied genuinely. Truly he had not expected to find someone who would so quickly jump to his defense all the while knowing so little about him. It was once again surprising. Though he did not know if it was bravery or foolishness that made her respond so readily. Perhaps it was both, heroes were often comprised of equal parts bravery and fool-hardy. With how frequently he was surprised by her and Cassandra, he was going to have to rethink a lot of what he had believed before coming to the Inquisition. But no matter what he revised in thought, he could not change his course of action. Miriel was surprising, but she changed nothing.

“But for now let us hope that the mages or the Templars have the power to seal the Breach,” that was after all, what he was here to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading ^.^


	2. Elves and the City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SFW. The Inquisition heads to Val Rayoux and Miriel learns that she is most definitely not a city girl. Solas helps.

Miriel, the best Hunter in all of the Dalish clan Lavellan, was not a city girl.

She stared at Val Rayoux, stomach churning with anxiety. So many people. Val Rayoux was the biggest city she had ever seen. The cities in the Free Marches were large, but they had these walls around them to protect their freedom from the other cities. Plus, she had never actually been in a city, just seen it as the clan’s aravels passed by. She had always wondered what a human city was like and now that she was there…she felt like she couldn’t get away fast enough. 

Up close the city was terrifying. Its sky scraping towers and busy streets teeming with people in strange garb, the myriad of scents of foreign food and dirty alleyways, the judging eyes behind gleaming masks all overwhelmed Miriel. She was used to the forest, with its sky scraping trees and busy bush teeming with chirping critters clad in their own fur and not the furs of others. The animals of the forest weren’t concerned with fashion or social faux paus, they were concerned with finding their next meal and staying warm. The struggle for power in the forest was straight forward: eat, don’t get eaten, and reproduce. In Val Rayoux, Miriel could feel the odd vigilant hostility emanating off of the masked denizens, intent and planning completely hidden and unknown. She felt the weight of their gazes, and she didn’t know what drew the most stares: her ears, Vallaslin, or the faintly glowing Mark on her hand. Don’t get eaten.

Her bare feet tingled from the strange heat of the smooth pavement, a drastic difference from the granular dirt her feet were used to. She had to resist the urge to step particularly lightly as she strode through the streets to the city center where the Mothers were convening. Her heart raced as she passed more and more people. Elves, humans, dwarves – it didn’t matter, the masses were too close, too numerous and they were all watching her. 

Talking with the screeching Mother and the renegade Templars did nothing to calm her heart and stomach. Her eyes darted back and forth on their own will, sensing potential threats every time someone threw her a second glance. Her ears twitched, her skin prickled and she just couldn’t calm down. She closed her eyes but the sense of potential danger only pressed more urgently on her mind. 

**

Solas had noted Miriel’s distress almost immediately. She did a poor job hiding it with the hand to her forehead and the long pauses with her eyes closed, her lips forming a staunch line on her face. He noticed the way her body had lost its smooth elegance the moment she stepped on the pavement. Her nose had scrunched up, a crinkle forming between her brows as her toes tapped the pavement, testing it. Her first few steps were precise and careful, carrying none of her usual confidence. 

She was uncomfortable to an alarmingly obvious degree and he was concerned that she would appear vulnerable to any enemies that were possibly lurking nearby, and if she looked weak, the Inquisition would look weak. If the Inquisition appeared weak it could cost them valuable allies. Solas quickly concluded that he could not allow this to continue. 

**

She needed air. Copious amounts of clean air that didn’t smell of sugar or perfume or street trash. She needed actual earth under her feet, and a cacophony of birds or insects, not a subtle low roar of muttering voices and backstabbing whispers. 

Miriel glanced around, her head swimming with all the new information her senses were being assaulted with. 

“Herald, would you come with me for a minute? It will help clear your head,” Solas’s soft whispering voice cut through the static in her mind and she found herself vaguely nodding. Solas gently took her arm and began guiding her through the streets. Soon they were ascending the steps to an impossibly tall building with those red, propped up curtains – what were they called? Ownings? The stairs spiraled up for what appeared forever until they came to a large arched door. Solas opened the door and lead her to a balcony overlooking the entire city. 

Miriel gasped as she beheld Val Rayoux from above. She heard none of the whispers, smelled none of the trash, and she could breathe as the breeze blew her hair back from her face. She closed her eyes as she leaned into the wind.

The static in her mind ebbed away as she felt the air rustle around her. She could feel the confusion rolling off of Cassandra and Varric, but she didn’t care, because this was exactly what she needed.

“Ma serannas, Solas, ma serannas,” she whispered. He stood next to her, a small, polite smile gracing his face. 

“I am pleased this helped.”

“Could someone please explain to me what we are doing up here?” Cassandra asked in her typical demanding manner.

“I think the Herald has never been inside a city before, Seeker.” Varric explained.

“Oh, this must be very overwhelming then.”

“Has anyone ever called you Captain Obvious?”

“No.” The Seeker said seriously. Varric chortled and Solas shook his head. Miriel smiled into the wind, letting it buoy her spirits up and above the city, above the reproach of the trash and the deceit. 

It was truly a lovely moment, up on that high, secluded balcony. Only the whipping of the wind and the occasional bird chirping were heard, until a fast flying arrow whizzed by the Herald’s head. THUNK! Into the door the arrow went.

“MAKER!” Cassandra swore as she drew her sword and shield, immediately falling into a protective stance around Miriel. Solas had brought up his barrier, and Varric had Bianca at the ready as he scanned the area. A now calm and centered Miriel strode to the arrow, noting the small, wadded up piece of paper attached.

“It’s a message, it wasn’t aimed to kill, just to inform.”

“Check to see if it’s a death threat, then it was meant to kill.” Miriel unraveled the note, it smelled vaguely of cheese and ale, and there was an accompanying stain on the parchment. The handwriting was awful and barely legible but Miriel made do.

“Looks like a potential ally actually, in a group that calls themselves ‘Red Jenny.’” Miriel looked at her companions, “do any of you know who or what ‘Red Jenny’ is?” Solas’s face turned solemn as he thought, Cassandra shook her head, and Varric scratched his.

“They sound vaguely familiar, but I can’t pinpoint why,” Varric offered and Miriel sighed.

“Well, something is better than nothing. The note says that there is a guy who’s after me and that they have evidence strewn about at the docks and a café.” Solas sighed.

“A test for their potential allegiance.”

“They couldn’t just sit down with us and talk about it over tea?” Cassandra asked, exasperated.

“Because this is how it works in the real world, Seeker, when a group that may not have a spotless reputation thinks about making a move as big as aligning itself with something like the Inquisition.” Varric informed Cassandra. The woman scowled in response.

“I agree with Cassandra, not about the tea, but about the pastries. Of all the things you humans make, your pastries are my favorite. Alright, let’s hit the docks and find that café. Oooh, maybe they’ll have croissants!” Miriel skipped through the door and headed down the stairs. Varric and Cassandra stared after her, amazed at the restorative powers the balcony had on her. Solas grinned, he was always right about these things.

**

The docks smelled of fish and shit. Miriel was convinced that Val Rayoux’s homeless population frequented this area by the sheer amount of crap, both literal and figurative. She was also convinced that any fish taken from the lake was not safe for consumption, the fish simply didn’t look right and she was convinced that it was the crap and pollution making it so that the fish were inedible. 

Disregarding the shit and the fish, the group found a snippet of a letter giving details about the man after the Herald.

“Now to the café, thank the Creators.” Miriel muttered as they hurried away from the stench. The café did indeed smell better, in fact, it smelled heavenly. After finding the information they needed, Miriel bought three croissants, all for herself. 

“What?” The party looked at the food she bought quizzically. “I’m hungry,” she explained semi-bashfully. Cassandra rolled her eyes.  
“Come on, we have the upper merchant ring to check.” Cassandra had to practically pull Miriel out of the café. 

“Oh look! Danishes!”

**

Sera was…unique, Miriel supposed. The woman certainly was enthusiastic about her work, at least. Solas was obviously annoyed by her, his nose crinkled in opposition to the woman every time she opened her mouth. Miriel could see his thoughts whirring about in his head, all circulating back to she is a disgrace to the elven people. Miriel could snort at the thought, she had to agree with Sera that he could be a bit pretentious, particularly when it came to things he believed himself to be an expert on – mainly elves, magic, and history. Miriel was glad that there was another person in the group who could poke at Solas’s inflated ego a bit…and maybe throw a pie at him.

After picking up Sera in the courtyard, it had gotten too late to make the journey back to Haven, so they had taken out a single room in an inn. A single room because they didn’t have enough money to buy two, and Val Rayoux was exceptionally expensive. The room was small for five people but it wasn’t terrible. Varric took the chair in the corner; Cassandra was on the bed with Sera. Solas created a little makeshift bed for himself out of the pack he always toted around. Miriel took a sheet off the bed and made a hammock for herself, just as if she were sleeping in an aravel again.

As it turned out, Sera snored…loudly. Varric slept like a rock, unaffected by Sera’s snoring. Solas took a while to fall asleep, but once he did, there was no waking him up until he was ready to depart from the Fade. Cassandra slept soldier style and was either really good at pretending to sleep, or she really was sleeping despite the surprisingly raucous snoring. Miriel did not sleep. She remained wrapped up in her hammock, unsettled by the consistent loudness of the city. The forests were never completely quiet, there was always a growl and a gentle buzzing of insects and other creatures, but it was surely quieter than it was during the day. The city was different. The consistent muttering and whispering she had heard during the day did not subside during the night. It was loud, even without Sera’s snoring, and it prevented Miriel from sleeping. 

For a while, Miriel just stared up at the ceiling, counting Halla in a vain attempt to sleep. She reached two hundred fifty six before she called it quits. Her restlessness prompted her to roll out of her hammock and tip toe softly out of the crowded room. She made her way up to the roof to look at the streets below. The cool evening air pressed against Miriel, an odd old comfort that reminded her of the many nights she spent holding watch over the aravels. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself back out in the wilderness with her clan.

“It’s a nice night,” a clipped voice said behind her. Miriel opened her eyes and turned around to see Solas with his hands behind his back.  
“I woke you, I’m sorry,” Miriel said but Solas waved her off.

“No, Sera began saying absurdities in her sleep.” Miriel gave a small laugh.

“That would do it, then,” there was a pause. “Thank you again for taking me to the balcony today, it was exactly what I needed.”

“The city can be overwhelming, I understand.”

“Very overwhelming, I could barely think with all the noise and the people, and Creators, the smell. Oh the smell is wretched!” Solas laughed and moved to stand next to her near the ledge.

“Oh yes, the smell is rather repulsive, but it has gotten better.” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Surely you jest!” Solas shook his head.

“I am afraid not. In my travels in the Fade, I came across several memories of spirits who saw and were present at the very early days of Val Rayoux. It was a disgusting mud pit that smelled of dung and unwashed humans. It was dreadful. I had to leave the memory immediately.”  
“Oh, eww.”

“Precisely. It is much nicer now.”

“And the pastries are marvelous.”

“I am personally a fan of the frilly little cakes.”

“There are frilly little cakes?”

“Yes, there are, and there is a bakery that is still open down that road.” Solas gestured toward a brightly lit alleyway with ivy dripping down the walls. They exchanged a look and then hurried down to the street. The bakery was about to close when the two arrived, red faced and grinning from ear to ear.

Solas spoke quickly and fluently in Orlesian to the tired looking baker, handing over several gold pieces before the haggard woman nodded and headed back inside. 

“What did you say?” Miriel asked, dumbfounded to see the baker opening a cupboard and pulling out a tin.

“Simply that I wish to impress a beautiful woman with the best frilly cakes in all of Orlais, and that only her cakes would do.” He said smoothly and she laughed heartily. 

“Oh you sly dog. And she is going in there and getting those frilly cakes all in the name of romance?” She said and he chuckled softly.

“I also paid her double the amount that she charges for the cakes normally.” He explained.

“Ah yes, the timeless allure of money.”

“Many have succumbed to its seductions.” He replied. Miriel postured slightly, comically raising her nose into the air.

“Well I have never been tempted by money.” She affected an Orlesian accent and Solas gave a small smile.

“Hmm, just by frilly cakes.”

“But of course.” The baker then came out with two tins full of frilly cakes and a sour expression on her face. Solas handed her a few more coppers, she huffed and handed him the tins but then was on her way, leaving the elves alone with the cakes. 

“Shall we find a place to eat these?” Miriel smiled broadly.

“I know exactly the place.”

**

The balcony was quiet, not even a bird peeped. The sounds of the city were far below the two elves. Faint lights glowed below in the windows of insomniacs and late night workers. Miriel and Solas leaned on the banister eating their frilly cakes. Miriel took a bite of one, her face soured and she looked around helplessly for place to politely dispose of the foul contents of her mouth. Solas kindly handed her a napkin with a soft chortle.

“I take it you do not like the orange cake with the cherry icing.”

“That was an offense to my taste buds.” Solas picked up a dark cake and handed it to her.

“Try this, it’s a dark chocolate cake with raspberry infused dark chocolate ganache.” She took a bite, and her eyes fluttered close on an unintentional moan of pleasure. Solas laughed a bit louder, “I take it you like it then.” She finished chewing the slice of heaven before answering.

“That is…Creators, wow. That’s better than a pastry. That’s better than cheap booze taken from a Shem. That’s better than sex. No, it is sex, but in my mouth. I think my tongue had an orgasm just now.” Solas guffawed, his entire body shaking with the force of his laughter.  
“Really, better than sex?” 

“Oh don’t take that tone with me, mister ‘All the good things in my life are in the Fade’.” 

“Even I enjoy the basic pleasures of the physical world…like this peanut butter and milk chocolate cake.” He took a bite and sighed happily. As he chewed he offered a bite of the cake, to which she agreed to eagerly. She leaned forward and took a bite of the cake in his hand, their eyes met and instead of looking away awkwardly, she smiled at him as she pulled back chewing the cake.

“That’s good, but that’s not sex in my mouth amazing.” Solas rolled his eyes.

“The dark chocolate of your cake is overpowering the subtleties of mine.” Miriel was taken aback.

“Uh, what’s subtle about peanut butter?”

“It is the way that the milk chocolate accentuates the peanut butter, it is a very pleasurable taste.” 

“Did you taste this though? It blows yours out of the water.” She offered him her cake but he waved her off.

“Dark chocolate tends to irritate my stomach, and besides, I do not wish to ruin the wonderful experience of my cake.” He took another bite and seemed to revel in it. Miriel scoffed playfully and nibbled her own cake in delight.

After finishing their respective cakes, Miriel sighed and smiled happily, “Thank you, again, Solas, I don’t know…I don’t know how I would have survived this blighted city without you.” Solas met her eyes solemnly, kindly.

“You would have survived perfectly well without me, I just eased you into it.” He looked away and at the now remarkably empty tins.

“Even so, I am grateful, it’s so nice to have someone who understands what it’s like not being a city elf.” Solas paused and then nodded.

“Yes, I suppose it is.” He looked away from her, a pregnant pause growing between them. He then cleared his throat.

“I have been meaning to talk to you about something,” he began.

“Oh, what about?”

“Closing the Breach is our primary goal, but I hope we might also discover what was used to create it. Any artifact of such power is dangerous. The destruction of the Conclave proves that much.” Miriel’s face scrunched up as he spoke and he was worried she would reject his desire.  
“You don’t think whatever created the explosion was destroyed in the blast?” She asked instead. He was somewhat relieved, except that she still looked displeased with the turn of conversation.

“You survived did you not? The artifact that created the Breach is unlike anything seen in this age. I will not believe it destroyed until I see the shattered fragments with my own eyes.” He needed that orb to the point where he could not believe it destroyed…the implications of such a thing would be…unpleasant.

“Anything with that kind of power is bound to show up sooner or later.” Miriel shrugged, seemingly uninterested in the idea if it showed up at all. 

“Leliana’s people have scoured the area near the blast and found nothing. Whatever the artifact was, it is no longer there.” Again, Miriel just shrugged.

“Is something bothering you?” He asked perturbed by her reaction.

“You can’t go more than five minutes without discussing the Inquisition, we were having a moment, you brought up the Breach. Moment gone. I am not…upset, I just wanted five minutes without being reminded about the impending doom over our heads, literally.” She leaned back against the railing and sighed.

“Oh, what would you discuss then?” Despite knowing that getting any closer to her was a bad idea, he found himself unwilling to have this moment end. He wanted to talk to her, it had been so long since he could actually talk to someone, and Miriel for all her faults and loud nature, was a surprisingly good listener.

“How about you? I’d like to know more about you, Solas,” she suggested and Solas felt a pit form in his stomach. He was not particularly interested in talking about himself, especially since he would have to toe very delicately around the truth.

“Why?” He asked and she pursed her lips.

“You’re an apostate, yet you risked your freedom to help the Inquisition,” she stated plainly, though he could tell she had a much sharper reply waiting eagerly on the tip of her tongue.

“Not the wisest course of action when framed that way.” He muttered.

“I appreciate the work you’re doing, Solas. I just wanted to know more about you.”

“I am sorry. With so much fear in the air…what would you know of me?” He would have to be careful, he could not give too much but he also could not give too little. It was best to be as vague as possible without inviting prying questions, though he suspected that no matter how expertly crafted his responses would be, Miriel’s curiosity would demand she ask questions regardless.

“What made you start studying the Fade?” 

“I grew up in a village to the north,” this was true, “there was little to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic.” This was vaguely correct. At the time of his birth and youth, his village had been small and there had been no place for magical study, and he had longed for the hallowed halls of magic in Arlathan. 

“But as I slept, spirits of the Fade showed me glimpses of wonders I had never imagined. I treasured my dreams. Being awake, out of the Fade, became troublesome.” He did not need to mention that his sleep was actually a borderline Uthenera, and that being awake in this new age often felt akin to tranquility.

“Did spirits try to tempt you?” She asked. He understood that her question was well-intentioned and based off of information she had grown up with, but in light of his knowledge and his experience, it was an ignorant question. Spirits were not dangerous if you kept the correct perspective.

“No more than a brightly colored fruit is deliberately tempting you to eat it. I learned how to defend myself from more aggressive spirits and how to safely interact with the rest. I learned how to control my dreams with full consciousness. There was so much I wanted to explore.” If he had his way, if he had always had his way…he would be a scholar, a dreamer, a researcher on all things related to the Fade. Instead here he was, an ancient rebel in hiding while trying to help a misguided Dalish girl save the world from an evil magister.  
“I gather you didn’t spend you entire life dreaming,” she said.

“No, eventually I was unable to find new areas in the Fade.” Once more her face scrunched up at his words, though this time he could identify it as a signal of curiosity rather than derision.

“Why?”

“Two reasons. First, the Fade reflects the world around it. Unless I traveled, I would never find anything new. Second, the Fade reflects and is limited by our imaginations. To find interesting areas, one must be interesting.” He explained and she smiled slightly.

“Is this why you joined the Inquisition?” She brought up the organization that she a few moments ago did not wish to discuss, but Solas didn’t bring that up. He was here for conversation and to escape from Sera’s snoring.

“I joined the Inquisition because we are all in terrible danger.” He said softly. Her gold eyes suddenly met his blue ones. He never noticed before that while they were very characteristic of the ancient Elvhen…they were also beautiful and showed her every emotion perfectly. Curiosity, intensity, playfulness – it was all there. How interesting.

“If our enemies destroyed our world, I would have nowhere to lay my head while dreaming of the Fade.” He went on to say. She closed her eyes and gave a slight nod of the head.

“I wish you luck,” truly? Her acceptance of his fascination of the Fade was less surprising than it would been before, but he was still mildly delighted to hear her support.

“Thank you. In truth, I have enjoyed experiencing more of life to find more of the Fade.”

“How so?”

“You train to flick a dagger or an arrow to its target. The grace with which you move is a pleasing side benefit. You have chosen a path who steps you do not dislike because it leads you to a destination you enjoy. As have I.”

“So you’re suggesting I’m graceful?” She teased, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip slightly. Solas returned her smile with a wolfish grin. It had been some time since he could flirt and he was enjoying the opportunity now.

“No, I am declaring it. It was not a subject for debate.” A delightful blush spread across her cheeks and she looked to the ground briefly before drawing her eyes back up to his.

“Earlier you said I’m beautiful,” she said softly.

“Again, not a subject for debate,” he practically purred. Her entire face was nearly the color of a beet and he had to resist the urge to laugh at how exceedingly adorable it was. Adorable? No, no it was ridiculous, not adorable.

“Are you well? You appear to be rather flushed, Herald,” he couldn’t resist teasing her more, but this time she seemed to regain herself.

“Yes, well, being complimented by a handsome man will do that to a woman,” she said and this time Solas felt his cheeks heat.

“Handsome, is it?”

“As you said, it is not a subject for debate,” she purred back at him, gold eyes glinting with mischief. 

“Is there anything else you would know of me?” He asked and she smiled wistfully.

“Oh I don’t know…why don’t you tell me about the Fade some more?” She asked and something in her voice made the idea sound almost sexual. Solas beamed at the idea regardless, and began to talk excitedly about the many wonders and properties of the Fade. He thought he would bore her but she listened and asked him questions, intelligent questions even. For hours they sat on that balcony, talking about the Fade and whatever other topics came up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine it must be nice for Solas to not have to be in a position of direct power over someone and therefore not feel like he shouldn't flirt with them. But at the same time he doesn't want to find Miriel attractive because well...wolfy reasons.
> 
> Miriel finds him annoyingly attractive and doesn't exactly know how to work with that. Also, culture shock is a hell of a thing (says the American girl in Europe for the first time).


	3. Offensive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition goes to the Storm Coast! Miriel has never seen a Qunari before. Strong language and some violence.

Miriel had been excited to see the coast, she had fond memories of the sea breeze in her hair high up on the cliffs near Wycome, but this…this was nothing like those beautiful memories. The sky was a mottled grey, with only a few streaks of sunlight bursting through. Though that light only illuminated the same greyish tones in the sea and beach. The grass and trees were a rich green, the only real color to the entire landscape except for the occasional jutting pink Spindleweed sprouts. Add to all of this a steady rhythm of rain and a wind pattern that felt like it couldn’t make up its mind, and you had a very terse and irritated elf.

Miriel trudged down the bank, grimacing at the feel of pebbly wet sand digging into her feet. She was used to nice, refined sand, not this rocky shite. Miriel’s attentions quickly shifted from the sand to the sounds of battle emanating from further down the bank. Her ears twitched and she launched herself across the sand, barely noticing the biting sand.

Her bow was out, arrow notched by the time she reached the battle. Darkly robed Tevinters were combating a well-equipped and skilled mercenary company lead by a hulking brute of a man with…were those antlers? _This must be Bull’s Chargers,_ Miriel thought as she raised her bow and fired an arrow directly into the skull of one of the Vints. Her fellow companions quickly entered the fray, assisting the Chargers despite the company looking like they had everything under control.

Solas put up a barrier around Miriel just in time for one of the warriors to charge her, sword raised high and ready to strike. She spun out of the way and brought her bow up, firing one arrow, two, three into his body. Knowing he was dead, she turned her focus once more to the main group of Tevinters who were now down to a mage and a remarkably elusive warrior. Cassandra shield bashed the mage and the soldier Miriel had spoken to back in Haven, Cremisius, removed the mage’s head. The warrior dashed around the battlefield, somehow evading arrows. Solas froze him just as the large Qunari, whom Miriel presumed to be the Iron Bull, brought down his gigantic hammer, eviscerating the poor bastard.

The Qunari let out a loud roar of triumph before turning to address his company.

“Chargers, stand down! Krem! How’d we do?” The man asked. Miriel ventured closer to make sure she was seen and she slowly began to feel rather…small.

“Why is everyone so…tall?” She murmured.

“I think it has to do with what they eat,” Varric replied. Miriel nodded and shrugged, it was good as an explanation as any.

“Five or six wounded, Chief. No dead,” Krem replied.

“That’s what I like to hear. Let the throat cutters finish up, then break open the casks,” the leader said excitedly. Krem nodded, his formality keeping him from grinning ear to ear. As Krem walked away, Miriel strode forward.

“So you’re with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it, here, have a seat. Drinks are coming,” he smiled and Miriel returned the expression…as she looked up and up and up. He was a great hulk of a man, all grey skin with a litany of battle scars old and new. His face was equally scarred and it possessed the only hair on his body. He was so thickly muscled that his head appeared tiny, even though it was probably twice the size of hers. She wondered if all Qunari had to have thickly muscled necks to support such large antlers. Did all Qunari have antlers? If so, were the antlers always this big? Were they bigger? Smaller? Curved differently?

“That was an impressive display back there, you and your men handled them well. I hear you’re looking for work?” Miriel said, still trying not to overtly stare at his antlers, or his eyepatch, or his pectoral muscles (Elgar’nan, a single one was bigger than her head!).

“I am! But not before my drink, though,” he jerked his head to the side before moving towards a large log that was thankfully situated away from the majority of the bodies. _He has pointed ears, like an elf….a really giant, grey, antlered elf…with an eyepatch…and no shirt…and billowy pants._

“I presume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant,” Bull gestured to the approaching man. The lieutenant stood tall, all formal before Miriel.

“Good to see you again. Throat cutters are done, Chief,” he said.

“Already? Have ‘em check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem.”

“None taken. Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts one up on you Qunari, right?” Krem sassed Bull and much to the Qunari’s credit, he took it in stride with an eye roll and a smirk.

“So…you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it…and I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

“How much are we talking about?” The Inquisition was barely up and running, it wasn’t like they had much gold to spare to begin with.

“It wouldn’t cost you anything personally, unless you wanna buy drinks later. You Ambassador – what’s her name – Josephine? We’d go through her and get the payments set up. The gold will take care of itself. Don’t worry about that. All that matters is that we’re worth it.” He kept saying that, and while the Chargers seemed quite capable…there were other merc bands who worked for less. _Are they as good, though?_ That was the kicker.

“The Chargers seem like an excellent company.”

“They are. But you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me. You need a frontline body guard, I’m your man. What ever it is – demons, dragons? The bigger the better.” He stood up and passed her, forcing her to step back and cant her head even further back.

“And there’s one other thing. Might be useful, might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”

“Oh you’re shitting me! _You’re_ part of the Ben-Hassrath?” Varric suddenly asked from his hanging back position. Miriel’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“No…what is the…Ben-Hassrath?” She stumbled over the word and her nose wrinkled at the sound.

“It’s a Qunari order. They handle information, loyalty, security, all of it. Spies basically. Or well… _we’re_ spies. The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what is happening. But I also _get_ reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.” Wait what?

“You’re a Qunari spy, and you just…told me?” That made no sense. Weren’t spies supposed to be conniving and sneaky and not giant, hulking, and _admitting they are a spy?_ It made no sense. _This is what the Keeper meant when she said the Qunari were backwards._

“Whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it’s bad. Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So whatever I am, I’m on your side.”

“You still could have hidden what you are,” Miriel countered, still not over the shock of him saying he is a spy. _How does he sneak around with those big feet? I could hear him a mile away!_

“From something called the Inquisition? I’d’ve been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it right up front from me.”

“What would you send home in these reports of yours?” What exactly made up a spy report? _Today the Herald of Andraste took a shit and then didn’t give a shit when someone told her she had to represent the Chantry?_

“Enough to keep my superiors happy. Nothing that’ll compromise your operations. The Qunari want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart.” Invasion to keep the world from falling apart? How did that make any sense? An invasion would be chaos.

“Ah yes, the infallible Qunari logic – invade and subjugate the people, _that_ will solve the problems.” Solas sneered derisively. The Iron Bull looked over to where the elf stood, his arms crossed defiantly over his chest, eyes glinting harshly with judgmental annoyance. But Bull took it in stride, turning his gaze back to Miriel.

“You let me send word of what you’re doing, it’ll put some minds at ease. That’s good for everyone.” Bull explained. Solas made no sound but his scowl remained and Miriel had to wonder why exactly it was the Qunari irritated him so.

“What’s in these Ben-Hassrath reports you’re offering to share?” She asked.

“Enemy movements, suspicious activity, intriguing gossip. It’s a bit of everything. Alone, they’re not much. But if your Spymaster is worth a damn, she’ll put ‘em to good use.”

“She?” How much did this man already know? If he knew about Leliana…well shit, man really was a spy.

“I did a little research. Plus, I’ve always had a weakness for redheads.” He laughed and Miriel took a deep breath. Pros, he was big and could fight, and Sylaise knew they needed manpower. He also brought along an obviously well-trained and disciplined company. There was also more information…though that was more of an exchange that led to more personal cost to the Inquisition than the Qunari since she wasn’t gaining any information about the Qunari themselves while the Qunari was gaining direct information about the Inquisition. That was a major, _the_ major, con. What if the repots _didn’t_ settle minds? What if it made them worry and restless? Was there potential for the Qunari to be unsettled by what Miriel already believed to be huge differences between the Qun and the Dalish? All she knew about the Qunari was that they mistreated their mages by cutting out their tongues and stitching their lips shut. It was disgusting and abhorrent. Especially since she herself came from a culture where being born as a mage was an honor since it meant that you were thought to have a closer bloodline to the elves of Elvhenan.

Yet Bull seemed like a decent fellow. If he was not bad…how could the Qun be bad? _He is a spy! This is how he is sneaky!_ That actually made a bit of sense. Pretend to be good but all the while an agent for destruction? Logical.

“Could you give us a moment to decide, Iron Bull?” Miriel asked hoping that it wasn’t rude to ask this of him.

“Yeah, take all the time you need,” he said before walking off to join his men by the casks. Miriel signaled for her own group to gather around her.

“Okay, what does everybody think?” She asked.

“You’re asking us?” Cassandra asked and Miriel nodded.

“I know next to nothing about the Qun. Varric, you seemed to be familiar with the Ben-Hassrath, what do you know?”

“I know that they tend to speak in overly complicated metaphors and don’t like to tell you the truth straight. If they lie, it’s by omission.” Varric’s eyes continually shifted, trying to get a better look at the Qunari. She was unsure if it was because he was nervous around the man or just trying to make sure he got the description in his notes correct.

“So they’re squirrely.” She clarified.

“Basically.”

“Solas, you also seem to know something about it.” He had been quick to dismiss the help on the basis of the Qun. Such a strong reaction was an indication of knowledge, yes?

“You want my recommendation? Refuse. We do not need the help of the Qunari to defeat this threat, not at the potential cost.” Though he didn’t specific what he perceived the cost to be and he seemed ill-content to continue to speak on the matter.

“And how do we know we won’t need them, Solas? And besides, it is only one Qunari.” Cassandra reasoned. This was true…how much damage could one Qunari do?

“I am fairly certain the Iron Bull counts as at least three Qunari,” Varric said. Miriel had to agree, the man’s sheer size afford him battle maneuvering none of them would ever be capable of.

“Also, I cannot continue to be the only one taking the blows at the fore. Another front person would be very much welcome,” Cassandra admitted. Miriel took a deep breath and assessed the situation once more before coming to a decision.

“Iron Bull?” she called as she walked over.

“Yeah?”

“All of your reports will have to be reviewed by Leliana, and nothing gets back without her approval. Your operations cannot interfere with ours – and if that does happen, you’re out on your asses. All of you.” She explained. She attempted to make her face stony and her voice harsh. She had never been in any real position of leadership before. Hunters hunted in equal pairs and while she was the most successful Hunter in the clan, she was by no means the Senior Hunter who organized them. This whole leading business, then, was new and she had no clue if she was doing it right.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Krem, tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired!” Bull shouted happily. Several of the men raised battered mugs in a cheer, ale sloshing over the edge just before they drank deeply.

“What about the casks, Chief? We just opened them up. With axes.” Krem said.

“Find some way to seal them. You’re Tevinter, right? Try blood magic.”

“Up on the hill is the main Inquisition camp, feel free to camp there, just don’t get any of the on duty soldiers drunk, please,” Miriel request. Bull turned to her.

“Wanting to put me to work already, Boss?”

“Please,” Cassandra interjected before anyone else could say anything.

“Great! I didn’t get my full workout today anyways.” Bull walked over to where his maul was still resting the sand and hauled the great weapon to where he could carry it across his shoulders as they traveled the beach.

“So you’re Dalish, right?” _And the spying begins,_ Miriel thought as she skipped a little ahead of the group as Dalish Hunters do.

“Yes,” she answered. Solas’s reaction still plagued her. She wondered if the Qunari were cruel to elves that would make Solas so quick to be derisive of them.

“I’ve got a Dalish in the Chargers. Your Vallaslin kinda makes you stick out.”

“Says the man with giant horns,” Varric commented.

“Dalish _elf_. Not just Dalish. We are Dalish elves,” Miriel corrected.

“Well, Dalish kinda implies the whole elf thing so-

“We are elves. We never forget, why should you?” She had whipped around, her eyes blazing with purpose as she stared at the behemoth of a man. Her Mohawk was pulled back into a pony tail today, making her eyes even more prominent in relation to the rest of her face than usual. Standing there, with jutting ears, bare feet, and her dark Vallaslin, she looked like the fierce Dalish huntress she was. And she felt damn good about it too.

“Okay, Dalish elf. I apologize if I offended,” he conceded and she relaxed her stance. Her eyes returned to their natural playful light as she turned back around.

“Your ignorance is not offensive if you work to remedy it,” she explained.

Hanging back from the group, Solas watched the exchange with an odd wistful expression.

**

They group soon ventured into a cave only to be greeted by giant skittering spiders. The fight was quick with Varric and Miriel pelting the creatures with arrows as Solas froze them and Cassandra and Bull cleaved into their bodies. Bull ended up moving around the field of battle and by the end he was standing by Miriel. His chest heaved out with his deep breathing and that just made him seem even bigger.

“Creators, you’re big,” she commented before realizing what she just said. Shit, was that insulting in his culture? She seriously had no idea. Much to Miriel’s relief, the man just laughed and nodded.

“Yeah! The Qun doesn’t breed us small.”

“The Qun is your…god?”

“Uh, no. Qunari have no god or gods. The Qun is…” he grunted or sighed, Miriel couldn’t tell, “it is a set of sacred, or something like that, rules and ways to live your life. The Qunari abide by those rules and refer to it when living their lives.” Bull explained

“So it’s like a religious text without having a god? That is…certainly different,” Miriel tried to wrap her head around it but it was just…a completely foreign concept. How does one have religion without a deity? How does a culture transfer its rules of spiritual guidance without the spiritual guide? It made no sense.

“Herald, is this the first member of the Qunari you have met?” Solas asked and Miriel blushed.

“Is it that obvious?” She asked, lips tilting into a rueful smile.

“Yeah, I knew right away. It’s okay though, we’re not exactly common down south.”

“I have heard of the Qunari but never thought I would actually _meet_ one…may I ask you a question?” She was so curious about his antlers. What were they for? Could they feel?

“Sure.” He shrugged, his weapon bobbing comically with the gesture.

“Your antlers…do they all grow like that? Do they feel? Do the women have them? Do you bang them on doors and ceilings a lot?” She asked and he laughed.

“Okay, for one, we call them horns, not antlers,” he answered and she blushed. “Second…no, different people grow horns differently. And not all Qunari have them. No, they don’t feel. Women can have them, yeah. And all the damn time,” he answered.

“How do your people put on shirts?” Solas asked from the rear.

“We don’t usually. It’s pretty hot where we come from. But I can get into anything with a loose collar, just gotta ease one horn through and then angle it up. There’s a term for getting caught unprepared that translates to ‘running around with clothing stuck on your horns’.”

“Colorful.” Solas replied as they exited the cave. It was the early afternoon, Miriel thought, though it was difficult to tell since all of the light was consistently diffused through the clouds. As they stepped back onto the beach, the hairs on Miriel’s neck stood on end and her stomach churned. Ears twitching and hands gripping her bow, she listened and she looked.

“We’re being watched, or we’re about to be attacked,” she said low. Bull didn’t change his posture…much, but she saw his hand tighten around the haft of his weapon, ready to swing it into action if need be. Casandra not so subtly unsheathed her sword and raised her shield. Varric cocked Bianca and Solas drew up a barrier around them all as they walked down the bank. Miriel’s eyes darted between the cliffs and the beach, uneasiness filling her as she saw there was no cover whatsoever for them, but a multitude of hiding places for those who wished to prey upon them.

It she were with the clan, even with this many hunters…they would turn back and they would inform everyone to stay clear of this region. The desire to run and escape this place was undeniable and she felt her legs somewhat unwilling to venture forth with the rest of her companions.

“We should turn back, find a different route,” she whispered, longing for the cover up on the cliffs.

“This was part of the patrol of the other soldiers, tracing their steps is how we find them,” Cassandra said, advancing her position.

“We are sitting ducks out here,” Miriel murmured.

“I agree with the Herald. We have no defensive position, no other means of defending ourselves from ambush other than our weapons while our opponents have the advantage of the land and their weapons. It is a recipe for a disaster,” Solas supported Miriel and she nodded her thanks.

Bull suddenly held his hand up, indicating the need for silence as he scanned the area, listening intently. Miriel gazed up the cliff and saw movement, a bright flash of blue among the green along with the telltale glint of a weapon. Without even thinking she let loose an arrow. A scream echoed from the cliff just as men and women burst forth from behind rocks, down from the cliffs and from further down the beach. There must have been at least forty of them, all charging with weapons raised high. Their shouts bounced off the cliffs and Bull roared in response, loosing his weapon to spin a deadly arc, crushing enemies in a single sweep.

As many men Cassandra shield bashed and cut, as many as Varric and Miriel punctured or Solas froze and Bull raged against, there was an unending tide of them and soon the group was being pushed back into the cave.

“Fall back!” Miriel cried, but it wasn’t until Iron Bull grunted and turned that they all began to run through the cave, back down the beach and fled into the foliage of the nearby cliffs. They practically threw themselves up the rocks and bush, seeking a place to hide from the horde of very angry men.

“There!” Miriel pointed to a small area where the leaves and bushes would hide even Bull from the onslaught. They dashed into the cover and stayed there for several minutes, breathing heavily as they listened for the sound of following footsteps. When she was sure they were safe from the marauders, Miriel sighed.

“Fen’Harel’s balls, that was close.” She muttered. Solas whipped his head to her but she was already standing up to walk away.

**

Walking the beach was no longer an option, there were simply to many of them and not enough of Miriel and her crew to lead an assault through the soggy sand. So the intrepid group took to the cliffs. Had Miriel wanted to traverse the cliffs before? Really? Because it was not going smoothly to say the least.

“I hate….this….fucking….terrain!” Miriel growled as she tried to scale another piece of slick rock and failed…again.

“Da’len, I am sure there is an easier way, perhaps a path-“

“No. I am a Dalish hunter, I can climb any damn thing I want. And there could be more of them along a path.” She argued stubbornly.

“C’mon, Boss, we can take ‘em.” Iron Bull goaded.

“Might I suggest a nice pair of climbing boots, Herald?” Cassandra offered, which only garnered the confused stares of both elves.

“Shoes?” Miriel asked.

“It’s not even snowing.” Solas commented. Cassandra gave an exasperated sigh.

“I don’t even know why I bother.” The seeker muttered as Miriel resumed her efforts to climb the cliff, to no avail.

“By the Dread Wolf’s hairy arse, fucking rocks! UGH!” She huffed angrily.

“Excuse me?!” Solas said instinctively. He had restrained himself, just barely, before but the suddenness and the blatant incorrectness of the statement had caught him off guard.

“You know, Fen’Harel, Dread Wolf, scary piece of shite just like the FUCKING ROCKS. And this FUCKING rain! And those _fucking_ bandits!” She bemoaned the area. Solas opted to ignore her comments about himself, it wasn’t her fault that the Dalish were ignorant of the past.

“I am familiar with him, yes.” He said dryly.

“Well, then I am using his name to curse, and maybe scare these rocks into fucking submission.” She slipped again. “DREAD WOLF’S BALLS!” Solas’s mouth at this point was just a singular terse line while he watched the Herald to continue struggle against the rocks.

“Oh Dread Wolf take you! Fucking rocks!” Ah, more Dalish curses. Lovely. Truly, where would he be without hearing such wonderful oaths born or ignorance and denial of history?

“Fine, we take a path…but we’re going to get ambushed again.” She turned from the rocks and slipped down the incline, landing none too gracefully on her rear end at the bottom. She was muttering more curses to herself, Solas was sure, and she was most likely a fuming angry mess at the moment, but watching her slide down and like that was probably the funniest thing he had seen since…since he had woken up. With a small smile and a shake of his head, he followed the troop through the woods and up a Cliffside path.

**

It was dark by the time they found the Inquisition soldiers. They were all dead, murdered by the Blades of Hessarian then left in the crumbling hut that was most likely the sight of their torture. It was a messy sight, blood everywhere, faces twisted in screams of anguish. Their bodies mangled and bloody were left out as a deadly warning to the inquisition.

Miriel had grimaced at the sight but had closed all of the soldiers’ eyes, whispering elven words to them, calling Falon’Din to usher them well to the land of the dead.

“They were Andrastian, how do…how do you perform funerals in your religion, Cassandra?” Miriel asked softly, her voice emanating a quiet rage.

“These men were Ferelden, they burn their dead,” Cassandra answered, walking around to observe the carnage.

“Looks like our boys were murdered by a group calling themselves the ‘Blades of Hessarian.’” Bull sighed as he looked at papers on a nearby table. Cassandra’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“Hessarian was the magister who killed Andraste as she was burned. The Blade of Hessarian represents mercy,” Cassandra thought out loud. Miriel finally stood and shook her head.

“Nothing about this says ‘mercy’. Bull, is there anything that says where these Blades of Hessarian are?” Her voice had taken on a razor sharp seriousness.

“Further along the beach, at least a five hour hike with this weather.” Bull rubbed his face, as he peered at the map, looking for an alternate route. Cassandra joined Bull at the table, leafing through documents.

“Look here, it appears we can challenge their leader,” she handed the document over to Miriel, who read it quickly and shook her head.

“Where are we going to get a deepstalker hide for this amulet?” Miriel asked, she didn’t even fully understand what a deepstalker was. All that she knew was that it was clearly a creature that lived in these parts, but she had never seen or much less killed one.

“And why wouldn’t we give them the same kind of mercy they gave our soldiers?” Bull asked, his tone grim. Solas awaited Miriel’s answer, wondering what she thought of the matter.

“As much as I want payback…if we can show them a better way, we can gain more control over this area, ensuring that they do not deliver such mercy upon anyone else.” She answered softly. Solas did not show any outward emotion, but internally found her wisdom refreshing. She sighed and stretched her back.

“Let’s build the funeral pyres then find a place to set up camp, we can decide what we want to do about the Blades of Hessarian in the morning.” With that plan in place, they gathered enough wood (mostly thanks to Bull who was big and strong enough to pull branches down) to build a pyre for the bodies. Cassandra presided over the event, whispering kind words that Miriel hoped the soldiers’ souls appreciated as they were ushered to their Maker’s side. Miriel wished their journeys well and hoped their Maker welcomed them.

After the fire died down, Bull led the group to a small grove he had seen earlier that wasn’t too far. The grove was small though and only had room for two tents and a fire. Cassandra, Varric, and Miriel took one tent while Bull and Solas took the other. Solas offered to take first watch, as he usually did, so as to dream as uninterrupted as possible later in the night. They ate their meal in quiet, either too tired to talk or the disturbing image of the butchered bodies of their soldiers burning too hot in their minds to make polite conversation.

Miriel retired to her shared tent after eating, feeling the exhaustion of the day. Sleep however, was elusive with Cassandra’s surprisingly loud snoring. Apparently the woman had become congested from all the humidity. If they had been in her clan, Miriel would have gently propped the woman’s head up with a small pillow to help her breathe and alleviate the snoring, but Cassandra was very not Dalish and they were all very clearly away from clan Lavellan. Miriel tossed, turned, and tried to sleep, but alas she could not. With a silent, but still equally exasperated harrumph, she left the tent.

The mugginess outside was not nearly as bad as it was during the day, and the chirping of insects in the dark provided some semblance of familiarity. The fire illuminated Solas’s face in an odd warm glow. His eyes seemed to be deeper in his skull, surrounded by shadows while his cheeks appeared shallow. He held a book in his hands, probably something related to the Fade or spirits or whatever else he liked to research. So as not to startled him, Miriel strode calmly and quietly to sit next to him. Despite her silent stride, Solas didn’t seem surprised when she sat down next to him.

“Can’t sleep?” He asked quietly, still reading.

“Cassandra’s snoring is preventing it, yes.” Miriel yawned and stretched her neck, wincing at the muscle strain still present there. “Fucking rocks today, my entire body is one giant muscle strain.” She rubbed her neck, but then realized her feet were probably the worst of it. She reached down and slowly began to massage her cramping feet. She winced again, _tomorrow is going to hurt._

**

Solas’s eyes, as usual, moved sideways to watch Miriel. The firelight was kind to her form, and her movements were graceful as ever, even in her evident exhaustion. He watched her try to ease the knots out of her muscles, taking in her winces of pain. As he watched her, he found himself wondering when he had switched from watching the Anchor to simply watching _her._ He had been so concerned on how she could potentially affect the Anchor, potentially abusing the power she literally held in the palm in her hand. But as they traveled together, as he watched her make decisions and speak about her beliefs…how was a Dalish girl with one of the foulest mouths he had heard outside of a tavern full of mercenaries was also one of the wisest and most conscientious and _kind_ people he had met in the modern age?

After several moments, he abandoned all pretense of trying to read his book and turned towards her. “Why do you hide your wisdom?” He asked softly. She raised her head and gave him a perplexed look before answering him in an equally soft tone.

“I don’t hide it, people just refuse to see it, usually because of some physical attributes – ears, tattoos, breasts. Take your pick. Nobody expects me, a female Dalish hunter with extensive tattoos, to have an ounce of wisdom, so when I speak and do things wisely, they think it’s a fluke. When people finally realize it’s not a fluke…well, they’re still shocked because they are still allowing such superficial shit interfere with how they perceive me.” Her words sunk into him as he realized that she was kindly telling him that he had allowed to be misled by her appearance.

Her gold eyes were sharp in the firelight, and Solas found himself smiling. She was right, he had assumed she would need an exceptional amount of guidance because of her Dalish heritage, because surely a Dalish could never show a degree of the wisdom once possessed by his people. But here she sat, confident and wise enough to know that she was chronically underestimated. It was the downfall of her enemies, both on the battlefield, and in diplomacy.

“I suppose I could swear less, but honestly, I just like doing it. I mean, ‘fuck’ just sounds so right. And ‘balls’, ‘balls’ is a great one.” She grinned at him, mirth dancing with the firelight in her eyes. He found himself wanting to roll his eyes in response, _so wise, yet so vulgar._ But he played along, finding himself wanting to engage in this ruse with her less and less, _dangerous._

“I prefer ‘ass’ myself,” he decided to indulge her. He was not particularly fond of using such language, but he figured that this would help bolster his ruse and distance ‘Solas’ from Fen’Harel. At his words she grinned mischievously as she arched a brow.

“I bet you do,” she teased suggestively. His brow furrowed in confusion before he realized what he said.

“Oh now, that is not what I meant, and you know it,” he defended but she just batted her long lashes at him feigning innocence.

“Do I know? I am, after all, a simple little Dalish girl,” Miriel smiled slyly and Solas had resist smiling himself at her antics.

“If that is so, then I am a quaint herbalist,” he replied and her smile grew dark.

“They’ll never see us coming, then.” He found himself returning her smirk. _No, da’len, they never see me coming._

After that they fell into a companionable silence, with him reading his book and she working out her sore muscles. He would occasionally chance a glance over at her, watching as she leaned against the log, legs stretched out. She was seemingly done with stretching and was watching the stars, long lashes casting dramatic shadows against her cheeks. She appeared golden in the light with her warm tanned skin, long blonde hair, and bright eyes.

It was close to the end of Solas’s watch when he heard a faint snort come from the other end of the log. He looked over to see a sound asleep Miriel. She was in a semi-sitting position on the ground, slumped over the log with her head resting on crossed arms. Mouth slack and hair draping over her arms, Miriel was hardly a sleeping vision as she snorted again and then wiped drool from the corner of her mouth. Solas shook his head and went back to his book, waiting for Bull to take over his watch.

**

Morning brought aches, pains, and more annoying rain. Miriel had been awake for some time, taking the last watch, when the others began emerging from their tents. Bull and Varric looked haggard, as if they had gotten no rest, while Solas and Cassandra appeared to be having difficulty shaking off sleep. If Solas had hair it would have been sticking every which way, just like Cassandra’s. Miriel had them sit around the fire, handing them cooked eggs, gathered berries, and dried meats they had packed with them for breakfast. As they ate, they planned what they were going to do about the Blades of Hessarian.

“If there is a chance at getting through this with minimal bloodshed, I say we take it.” Miriel said as she bit into her jerky.

“There is a cave to the north of the previous camp, I bet there are deepstalkers there, and we can probably cut down walking time if we walk on the beach instead of the Cliffside,” Bull offered, his own mouth full of egg and jerky.

“The beach provides little cover, we would be open to attack once again,” Solas countered.

“We need to make better time than yesterday, that is for certain,” Miriel explained. Solas shook his head but Cassandra scowled.

“The longer we take, the chance for more Inquisition soldiers to be taken grows, we need speed, Solas.” Miriel nodded in agreement with Cassandra.

“We walk the beach, and,” Miriel pulled her pack over to her, reaching in and pulling out a pair of odd leather booties, “these will help if we are forced into the Cliffside again.” Much to Solas’s shock, Miriel began to pull on the booties.

“Finally she sees wisdom,” Cassandra commented dryly. Miriel stood up and shuffled her feet, trying to get used to the odd feeling of shoes. She had worn them infrequently while with the clan, only putting them on during the colder months. It was hardly cold on the Storm Coast, but she recognized the indefinite need for the uncomfortable shoes.

“Are they not uncomfortable?” Solas asked and Miriel nodded.

“Yes, and I will probably have blisters later, but we need to deal with these Blades of Hessarian as soon as possible. Comfort and pride will only delay and endanger us,” she stated plainly. Bull nodded approvingly and then they began their trek through the Storm Coast once more.

**

With the aid of the booties, they made good time. They reached the caverns holding the deepstalkers and slew the disturbing creatures quickly and without ceremony. Miriel skinned the buggers in record time, harvesting and drying the skin to patch into the necklace. The group killed about twenty more of the Blades before reaching their dank smelling camp full of barking dogs and shifty looking people. Miriel displayed the Crest to the guards at the gate who just gaped at her.

“It’s the Herald of Andraste! Come to challenge the leader?”

“No one has succeeded before.”

“Do you think she’ll win?”

“I bet you a sovereign that the boss’ll win. Just you watch.”

“I pray that Andraste guides us right.”

The humans eyed her with suspicion and she smiled at the scrutiny. Just like when she was with the clan. At the far end of the compound sat the leader of the Blades of Hessarian. A large unwashed human clothed in patchwork leathers sat on a chair made of animal bones, wood, and poorly tanned leathers. _Shameful work,_ Miriel thought as she approached the man who appeared to be picking something out his teeth. _Ew._

“I presume you are the leader of the Blades of Hessarian?” Miriel asked. She managed to keep her voice steely and cold even while she wanted to retch from the smells emanating from the sties in the compound.

“And you’re the pansy Inquisition. You dare challenge me?” He demanded and this time Miriel actually flinched. Not because the man was imposing or anywhere close to being intimidating but because by the Creators, his breath. Ugh, dragons’ breath smelled better.

“You will regret coming here, Herald!” The man cried and began to charge. Solas brought up a barrier while Miriel jumped out of the way. Bull countered the man’s sword, forcing it to the ground. Before Cassandra could bring down the killing blow, Miriel flicked a dagger to the man’s skull. The oaf slumped to the ground, the life already absent from his eyes. Cassandra looked up to Miriel, her mouth a firm unhappy line.

“I had everything under control,” the seeker said and Miriel nodded.

“Yes, and I helped.”

“You stole her kill, Boss. Not cool,” Bull shook his head and Miriel’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

“She had him and you just threw a dagger and took that special moment away from her. You stole her kill,” Bull explained.

“Oh…sorry?” Miriel offered, shrugging her arms with hands out as a ‘oops’ gesture. Cassandra rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, it’s done.” The woman huffed and Miriel shrugged before turning to the shocked looking Blades of Hessarian.

“You actually beat him!”

“Told you she would!”

“You owe me a sovereign.”

“Shut up! Let the Herald speak!”

“Herald of Andraste, we now serve you and your Inquisition. We may command our forces however you see fit,” the lieutenant, or at least she presumed he was the lieutenant, said. He bowed low and averted his eyes from hers. The other Blades also bowed…sort of. The people were clearly uncivilized to the point where they didn’t even know how to properly bow, just sort of awkwardly lean forward, shaking a bit.

“Wait, so you’re seriously okay with me just killing your former boss and swearing allegiance to me?” Miriel asked, confounded.

“The man was a bastard.”

“Yeah, a real grade A dickhead.”

“Total twat.”

“Good riddance!”

“This is our way, Herald. We are your blade now,” the lieutenant continued as the crowd began to grow. Miriel looked at them all and sighed.

“Shems are fucking weird,” she muttered as she was lead off to discuss the best assault options for closing the nearby Rifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please comment, leave kudos if you liked it, etc.


	4. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters between Clan Lavellan and Miriel.

_Clan Lavellan offers greetings to the Inquisition and wishes it well in sealing the Breach that has opened in the sky. While some Dalish clans hate humans and wish nothing to do with them, Clan Lavellan has always dealt fairly with all and wished only for peace. That said, we have on occasion been forced to defend ourselves from those who saw us only as potential victims._

_It has come to our attention that a member of our clan is being held captive by your Inquisition. She went to the Conclave only to observe the peace talks between your mages and templars, and we find it highly unlikely that she intentionally violated your customs. If she has been charged with a crime, we would appreciate hearing of it. If not, it would ease our concerns to hear from her to know that she remains with the Inquisition of her own will._

_We await your reply,  
Keeper Istimaethorial Lavellan_

_**_

_Aneth’ara, Keeper!_

_I am safe, Keeper, I swear by all the seas and fields that have carried our aravels._

_The most amazing things have happened, and they are not good. The Breach? It was created by a huge explosion at the Conclave and I apparently was drawn physically into the Fade. Yes, I am safe…mostly. I have a magical Mark on my hand that allows me to seal the Rifts that allow the spirits to come through the Veil. It is not painful, do not worry, but I am afraid I cannot return home while I am indispensable here. The Dalish did not raise a girl who neglects her duties._

_The humans have been surprisingly accepting of my being their “Herald of Andraste”. I was sure that there would be more pitchforks and fire, but they mostly just smile cautiously and say odd things like “Grant me your blessing” as if I were a literal vessel for their prophet._

_Once more, I am well. I will do my part to help right the world and perhaps in the process show the world the real value of the Dalish._

_Creators keep you and the clan._

_Dareth Shiral,_

_Hunter Miriel Lavellan._

_PS: I am aware that one letter does not necessarily alieve your concerns, which is why I have sent elven agents and gifts to the clan, including dry rations. Please tell my sisters that I love them and that I miss them every day. Tell Maren to stay out of trouble!_

_**_

_Da'len,_

_Andaran atish'an. It does my heart well to hear that you are safe. Our clan was visited by members of the Inquisition who spoke persuasively of the good work you are doing, as well as the fairness with which our kind have been treated by the Inquisition itself._

_You know that Clan Lavellan has little by way of gold, but I gave the messengers some of our healing herbs, as Sylaise blessed us with abundance in our recent foraging. We would be a distraction if we came to the Inquisition itself, our hunters arguing with the humans as they so easily do. Nevertheless, if you need aid, send word, and we are with you._

_Dareth shiral,  
Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan_

_PS: I have attached a letter from Rana and Maren. The clan misses you, da’len, but we are also proud. May the Creators keep you and the Dread Wolf never hear you._

_**_

_Miri,_

_“Tell my sisters I love them and miss them terribly”, “Tell Maren to stay out of trouble”? Is this all we get? Your own blood! Shameful, da’asa’ma’lin._

_Thank the Creators you are safe, though I do wish you would at least try to avoid the Rifts to the Fade. Mythal’enaste, what are you thinking? Those demons could kill you! Pride can kill anyone, Miriel, even gifted hunters. Maren is shouting about how you have to do this, that your letter says that only you can close the Rifts. But is it too much to want my baby sister to be safe and away from demons?_

_I can’t believe you walked physically through the Fade! You do not remember anything? How peculiar. I have spoken with the Keeper, and she suggests that it is because you are not ready to remember or that a spirit has taken your memory. Either way, perhaps it is best you not remember. The Fade sounds terrifying and strange._

_This is Maren: The Fade isn’t scary, not if you think about it right. Don’t listen to Rana, she doesn’t know anything._

_Rana: Maren, please stop writing on my parchment. And I am eighteen years older than you, I believe my age grants me more knowledge than you in this regard._

_Maren: It doesn’t, and you know why, Miri. If you remember anything, WRITE ME. I have to know everything!_

_And I miss you, Miri. We all do…but me most of all._

_Rana: Thirteen year olds. The creators have certainly blessed me with taking care of a four year old and a thirteen year old at the same time. Theron gives his greetings and your nephew would as well if only he would stop trying to gnaw on the poor mask of June. Come home soon, Miriel, the clan is not the same without you._

_Nuvenan na amahn._

_All of our love,_

_Rana and Maren_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big ol' shout out to Project Elvhen on tumblr and here. (and if I did something wrong, oops).  
> Translations:
> 
> da'asa'ma'lin: little sister, Rana is calling Miriel "little sister"
> 
> Nuvenan na amahn: a way of saying "I miss you", directly "I wish you were here."


	5. Morning Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While traveling through the Hinterlands, Solas stumbles upon Miriel's morning routine.

The morning sun was beginning to rise when Miriel began to clamber down from the tree she was sitting in. She had taken last watch as per usual and now it was time for the best part of the day: stretching. She made sure to check for any signs of danger before wandering a bit from camp, pulling her hair back as she did so. The clearing was only a small distance away from the camp; far enough away to give her privacy, but close enough for her to listen for any danger threatening the group.

Miriel shucked off her tunic and leggings, preferring to stretch in her smalls and breast band to allow for maximal movement and flexibility. She folded the garments, placing them neatly on a tree stump by her and stood with her back straight, eyes closed, as she said her first prayer.

“Creators bless the morning and all that which you guard and protect,” she murmured. Her Gods may be gone, but she hoped…well, perhaps there was a certain magic that connected the Gods to their worshippers. She hoped so, had to believe so.

She began to move her body, slowly stretching her weary muscles. She moved herself gracefully, her muscles sighing in happiness at being moved after sleeping on the hard ground of the Hinterlands. As pretty as the area was, the ground was hard and littered with rocks, making for poor sleep and stiff muscles.

These stretches were not like normal human exercises with pulling various body parts with the hands, but rather having each part of the body stretch itself with reach and strength. These types of stretches were common amongst the Dalish, the hunters being the ones who engaged in them the most. Recently mages had been joining in, saying that physical stretching helped them center and calm their minds. Since it seemed that no one else in the group participated in such stretching, Miriel was by herself, greeting the day by moving her body elegantly and slowly through positions.

She bent her body and maneuvered it as the sun began to creep higher and higher into the sky. It was this time of day, where the night creatures were falling asleep and the day time critters were just beginning to stir, where the birds began to flutter down to the ground, looking for worms, and all watched the sun slowly rise into the sky, that Miriel felt most relaxed. Watching the dawn was worth the torture of waking so early, to simply feel the peace of all creatures as they reacted to new daylight – it was a calming bliss that she thanked the Creators for daily. As she performed her stretches she went over the prayers to her people’s gods. She asked Mythal for her protection and wisdom, for Elgar’nan to grant her strength when facing her foes, for Sylaise to keep her warm against the cold of wind and evil, for Dirthamen to keep her feet silent and secret as she hunted, for Andruil to guide her bow and arrow to their rightful marks, for June to bless the crafts she wielded, for Ghilan’nain to show her the way when in doubt, and for Falon’Din to guide those she slayed and those she lost swiftly and lovingly to the beyond. But most of all, Miriel prayed that the Dread Wolf, Fen’Harel, did not hear her footsteps.

**

Solas tended to wake on the early side. He liked getting a head start on the day, and waking early also meant that he could get that head start without being bothered by the others. It wasn’t that he didn’t _like_ the others, he just didn’t want them interfering with his magical preparations for the day. He had to cleanse his staff, prepare poultices and herbs, inspect his robes, and hopefully meditate peacefully to clear his head in preparation for the extensive use of magic later in the day.

In his tent, Solas folded his sleep clothes neatly and put them into his worn pack. He opened a vial, the scent of trees and wood filled the tent and he smiled. It was the only vanity he allowed himself for his appearance. He poured some of the liquid onto his hand then closed the container. After rubbing his hands together, he ran his hands over his shaved head, creating a shiny glow. He often told himself that the real reason he did this was because the concoction held sun shielding benefits that protected his head.

With his head and clothes taken care of, he grabbed his staff and small herb pack that held his empty vials and headed out of his tent. He was surprised to not immediately see Miriel sitting by the now dying fire but he wasn’t concerned, the Dalish girl knew how to handle herself in the woods. Not wanting to disturb Bull and Cassandra who were still sleeping, Solas searched for a quiet nearby area to continue his morning routine. He made his way east of camp and only walked for less than a minute before he saw Miriel.

Miriel stood in front of the sun, the light bleeding through the trees and illuminating her figure as she slowly bent backwards. She was barely clothes and Solas knew he should look away, but her grace, her elegance…it was beautiful. She was beautiful. Her rich tanned skin seemed to glow in the diffused light, the strain and strength of her muscles clear as she moved silently. He knew she was strong, those who wield longbows had to be in order to be proficient, but to clearly see her muscles work underneath her skin to move her was understanding her physical strength in the most mesmerizing way possible. Form and function perfected. Her eyes were closed as she moved with careful purpose, the only hint of expression was the almost smile she bore.

In her armor, she had seemed short and like runt version of the ancient Elvhen, but here, illuminated by the morning light, it was clear that his initial thoughts were incorrect. Miriel was long and lithe, elegant and smooth, and clearly a descendent of the Elvhen…just in a slightly smaller form.

Solas stood transfixed as he watched Miriel stretch her body. Andruil’s initiates often did a similar ritual where they would ceremoniously stretch on their patron’s balcony, greeting the day and praying to her for guidance. Those initiates were thought to be the most nimble and deceptively strong in all of the empire. They were her defenders, her hunters, those she had blessed with not just a spiritual connection, but a physicality that only Elgar’nan could hope to match. Seeing Miriel now, watching her bathe in the light, reminded him of those golden years of Arlathan, right before everything began to fall apart. _She would have been one of them._ He did not know if he was impressed by the idea or disturbed.

Miriel then turned her body so that he now saw her back instead of her right side, showing him how symmetrical she – was that a tattoo? Solas dared to take a couple steps forward to determine the nature of the strange shadows dancing over Miriel’s left arm. They were tattoos! Or rather, one large tattoo of dark, swirling vines that started on her left shoulder blade then ran the length of her arm, going as far as her middle and index fingers. The vines were clearly Dalish in style, but they played off of the ancient style of Vallaslin in a way that complimented the facial tattoos. They were dark and the work to place them on her body must have taken hours, if not several installments. The edges were smooth and sinuous and they almost appeared to move as her muscles flexed. They coiled and released in tandem and for the life of him, he could not look away.

**

The Iron Bull was the third person to wake. He didn’t have a routine for waking mainly because working on Seheron meant that he usually woke to chaos. A snake, a Vint, a Fog Warrior – those were the wake up calls, not cute little birds chirping out “Good morning!” Working with the Chargers had been similar, except that most of the time he was in charge of waking up the sods who were hung over (or in some cases still drunk) from the previous night. In all, it didn’t matter much.

The giant Qunari dragged out his armor, donning it unceremoniously as he packed the rest of his crap into his pack. With a huff, Bull was out of his tent, toting his big ass war hammer with him. He emerged to find that Miriel wasn’t at the normal watch post. He frowned as he scanned the area calmly to see where she might have gotten to. The ground wasn’t sporting any signs of battle, only two fresh sets of prints belonging to two familiar barefooted elves. _About time those two snuck off and shacked up,_ he thought as he followed the trail to be sure they were fine and not, you know, abducted by demons or some shit.

Bull prided himself on being remarkably quiet for his size and stature. It was one of the reasons he kept his boots soft, because while he may be large and about to charge, he valued the use of surprise. So he tread softly through the bush, following the fresher set of prints to a very frozen, very mesmerized Solas. Bull followed his gaze to the nearly naked, very flexible and beautiful, Miriel.

“Damn,” he whispered as she supported herself on her hands as she bent her legs forward to point in the direction of her head. Solas startled and glanced at Bull very briefly to acknowledge his presence.

“It is quite…impressive,” Solas whispered absent mindedly. Bull resisted the urge to snort, not wanting to distract Miriel from her display.

“Yeah, what you call impressive, I call hot. Just…damn,” the two ogled Miriel for another minute, watching her bend her body in ways they could only dream of. Bull leaned over to Solas, “See, Qunari can’t bend that way because of the horns, and humans are so clumsy most of the time, dwarves have too much fat on their bones to really look that elegant as they move, but you elves are simply amazing when it comes to this stuff.” Solas scowled deeply in response.

“Yes, go ahead and sexualize an entire race that has been overtly sexualized and demeaned for centuries.” Solas whispered hotly. Bull rolled his eye.

“Who said I was sexualizing them? I am simply commenting on the amazing flexible strength your people seem possess, particularly Boss here. You are the one sexualizing the situation, Solas,” Bull pointed out. Solas scowled deeper but made no remark, instead they both continued to watch Miriel’s routine. As she contorted herself into a particularly interesting and difficult position they could not help their gasps. She appeared serene as she held the pose with her right leg straight as it supported her body. Her left leg was raised up and bent so that her foot nearly touched her head. Her left hand held that foot while her right arm was extended out in front of her. She did not wobble or waiver, instead remaining still with a calm expression.

“Will you two stop ogling the Herald and come help me find breakfast and pack up camp!” Cassandra’s shouting broke the reverie. Bull and Solas turned around to hush the Seeker when Miriel spoke up.

“Yes please, I am trying to pray to my Gods and you are ruining my concentration.” She didn’t even open her eyes, just continued to move lithely through her exercises.

“Sorry, Boss,” Bull apologized as he turned back toward camp to help Cassandra.

Solas stood in his spot for a second longer. His mood soured by Bull’s words and the thought that while Miriel was proving just how amazing her body was, she was giving it all to false Gods who would not hear her, and even if they could, would probably not care.

**

They were back in the Hinterlands for two reasons: to bring the good news to Master Dennet that his watchtowers had been built and to hopefully then receive the horses the Inquisition desperately needed and to question a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall about the sudden disappearance of the other Wardens. Miriel was still trying to get used to the stretch and bruising that riding a horse entailed. Halla were typically smaller, or rather, narrower. Miriel was flexible, yes, but the constant wide spread of her hips was uncomfortable at best, painful at worst. Today, though, was a good day, with only a little bit of strain on her hips and bottom.

It was an unusually hot day for early autumn in Ferelden, the sun beating on the group’s back relentlessly. Miriel had opted to not wear her heavy leather armor jacket piece, leaving her just in her light undershirt that allowed for the dark ink of her arm tattoo to bleed through.

“That’s some nice ink you got there, Boss.” Iron Bull nodded at Miriel’s left arm. Sweat dripped off of his brow as he sloughed along, bearing the most weight as he doubled as a beast of burden for this journey.

“Oh, thank you. My friend, Vathoren, did it. He wanted to do my Vallaslin, but only Keepers do that, so he did this for me.” She unconsciously flexed her arm as she reminisced about the hours it took to remain still as Vathoren worked his own brand of magic on her arm.

“That is some fine artistry, does it represent anything?” Bull inquired further.

“Not exactly. It doesn’t honor our gods or anything, that’s what the Vallaslin does, but it does…anchor me, to my bow I mean. It’s hard to explain, but for me it is like it connects me to my bow, and is a clear reminder to honor the Vir Tanadhal.”

“Care to explain that?” Bull asked. Suddenly Cassandra held up her hand in a gesture indicating imminent danger. They all quickly dismounted, knowing their horses were not cut out for battle. Bull slowly lowered his pack to the ground as he brandished his hammer. Miriel quietly readied her bow as Solas calmly lit his staff up with active magic. There was an eerie calm before bandits leapt down from the trees. Miriel snapped back and began letting loose arrows into their foes.

“Vir Assan, the Way of the Arrow,” Miriel began as she lined up her shot with a man’s eye socket, “I will fly straight and never waiver.” She let loose the arrow, the man falling down with a gasp as he died. Miriel had no time to revel in the moment for one of the mercenaries had closed in on her, waving his sword in attempts to strike her.

“Vir Bor’assan, the Way of the Bow,” she spoke clearly as she dodged the man’s sword, ducking low and jumping to the side as she unsheathed a small knife from her calf holster. She deftly maneuvered herself around her opponent, kneeing him in the gut, “I will bend, but never break.” She pulled the knife up through the man’s neck, severing his jugular. She left the knife and rejoined the fight, spotting an archer aiming for Solas. The archer was not as quick as Miriel.

“Vir Adahlen, the Way of the Forest,” with quick aim and strong, nimble hands, she let the arrow loose, killing the archer before he could kill Solas, “together we are stronger than the one.” Before the group were approximately eight dead men. Bull had taken down the largest man, a brutish thug wielding a large weapon that seemed to be a boulder strapped to a tree branch, while Miriel had taken three, and Solas and Cassandra having taken the rest out. Bull breathed a little quicker than before as he searched through his guy’s pockets.

“I get it, some of the Stens get symbols and shit to feel even more connected to their swords.” He rummaged some more until he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with some absolutely horrendous handwriting on it.

“Looks like some mercenaries have set up in the woods by Dennet’s farms. I’m thinking we should take care of them.”  There was a collective sigh of _yes, of course_ before they picked up their things, looted the bodies and headed for where the mercenaries were located.

The days were already getting shorter with the changing season, and within hours the sun was already almost set in the sky. The group set up camp once more, knowing that tomorrow brought more walking and fighting through mercenaries. As they settled down, Miriel caught Bull eyeing her ink again.

“Got any other tats?” He asked, but his tone was darker, more suggestive and she was sure that he would have winked had he not already be stuck in a perpetual wink. She thought she might as well as play along.

“Other than the Dread Wolf’s paw on my ass, nope.” Iron Bull roared in laughter, Cassandra’s nose wrinkled in distaste, and Solas hiccupped, made an unflattering choking noise, and then coughed.

“Herald! You should not make such jests.” She had to be, there was no way….it was….she had to be jesting. She laughed at his response and shook her head, grinning broadly.

“I wasn’t joking. I was seventeen, had gotten my Vallaslin two days earlier, and that night I got drunk with some hunting buddies and then woke up with a nice little paw print on my butt. It’s a nice paw print, Vathoren did it again, so of course it was nice. Zedhan laughed that the ‘Dread Wolf had slapped me on the ass.’ It was all very funny.” Bull continued to laugh as Solas stared at Lavellan in shock.

“Which cheek?” Bull asked and Miriel rolled her eyes. She saw Solas shift in his seat, uncomfortable with where the conversation was going.

“The left. It’s actually older than the vines. Only the other hunters know about it,” She explained, beginning to blush slightly about it. She wasn’t ashamed of her tattoo, but it was a little embarrassing to explain it. Bull smiled slyly as he leaned back.

“Why don’t you show us?” Bull was pushing his limit and he knew it. Miriel smiled deceptively and stood up, untying her leggings as she maintained eye contact with Bull.

“This is ridiculous, da’len.” Solas muttered, but he along with Bull could not look away from the very beautiful Miriel disrobing. She turned around and pulled her leggings down to the swell of her buttocks then stopping, turning back around and pulling her leggings back up.

“Nice try Bull, but you’ll have to work harder to get me out of my pants,” she tied the laces and sat back down, satisfied. Solas found himself almost grinning at her antics. She was…not what he had expected, but he was quickly learning that that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos make my day, so if you are so inclined, please leave them. Y'all are awesome :)


	6. Marks of the People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an encounter with another Dalish elf, Miriel teaches Solas about the Dalish. SFW

With the mercenaries dealt with and Horse master Dennet and Warden Blackwall now a part of the Inquisition, the group was leaving the Hinterlands for Haven. They were on the East Road when Solas stopped and tilted his head to the side. Miriel stopped and watched the man listen or sense something.

“Is everything okay, Solas?” She asked. His eyes snapped open and he righted his head.

“Yes, according to my research, the ancient elves may have set up wards near here. If we can find the artifacts they used, it may help strengthen this area against tears. ” He explained, his face clearly focused on finding where the artifact was. Miriel nodded and signaled to the rest of the group to come over.

“I think that strengthening the Veil is pretty important, can you sense where the artifact is?” She asked. Solas closed his eyes once again. Cassandra looked skeptically at the two, crossing her arms.

“We have been on this route many times before, why didn’t you mention this artifact before?” Cassandra asked. Solas turned to her with a frown.

“Before there was too much wild magic in the air with the rebel mages, now that they have been taken care of for a long enough period of time, I can now properly sense the artifact’s more subtle magic.” Solas explained as he turned toward what appeared to be an old mine track. “The artifact is that way, I suggest we go investigate.” Without waiting for a reply, he headed for the old mine. Miriel turned to Cassandra and shrugged as she followed him, with an annoyed huff Cassandra also followed along with Bull and Blackwall.

“Are they always like this?” The Warden asked.

“Pretty much,” Bull answered.

They followed the track to an old elven ruin. Whatever the structure was, all that was left were a few crumbling arches that were being held together by vines. There were some steps that appeared to lead to a wall – no, an unfortunate cave-in. Miriel saw Solas ahead staring at the cave-in, probably trying to judge the best course of action. She was just about to run up to join him when another mage was suddenly barging through, a mist of electrified air surrounding her as she fled from her attackers. Solas was the first to identify the assailants. He quickly equipped his staff and drew up a barrier around everyone.

“Demons!” He shouted as they swarmed over the hillside in pursuit of the woman. He froze them as quickly as he could, the other mage soon aiding him by electrocuting several of the demons. Miriel was soon letting loose a hail of arrows as Bull and Cassandra swooped in to smash the remaining demons. It was less than a minute of action before all the demons were dead.

 With a still pounding heart and harried breath, Miriel turned to the lady mage, “Are you all right?” The woman nodded as she leaned on her staff.

“Yes, ma serannas, lethallan,” the woman said, her breathing labored from her exertions. Miriel stepped close enough to see the woman, confused as to why a Dalish mage (a proudly Dalish mage by how dark her Vallaslin was) was doing without her clan. “I don’t think I could have taken them by myself.”

“No, you would not have been able to,” Solas stated simply. Miriel frowned at his lack of tact.

“We were glad to help, I am Miriel of clan Lavellan, and these are my traveling companions, Solas, the Iron Bull, Cassandra Pentaghast, and Warden Blackwall.” As odd and unexpected as it was, Miriel was glad to see another of the Dalish.

“Andaran atish’an. I did not expect to see another of Dalish blood here. My name is Mihris.” Mihris held out her free hand and Miriel reached out, grasping the other woman’s arm just below the elbow. Mihri clasped Miriel back and they smiled. _Normal greetings! Praise the Creators._

“Are you fighting the demons on your own?” Miriel asked, disengaging from the greeting.

“Fighting the demons is pointless, there will always be more. And I have no means of closing the rifts. But I _have_ heard of elven artifacts that measure the Veil. They may tell us where new rifts will appear. I was not expecting so many demons, however. I believe one of the artifacts is nearby. Can you help me reach it?” Miriel smiled saw Solas scowling behind Mihris.

“We were actually also investigating the artifact, so yes, I think working together sounds like a wonderful idea.” Miriel agreed, but Solas just scowled deeper, _alright Mr. Sourpuss._

“Thank you, it shouldn’t be too much farther ahead.” They Dalish women smiled at each other, but something still nagged at Miriel.

“What took you from your clan?” She asked. Mihris sighed and closed her eyes, unable to meet Miriel’s.

“They were all killed…by a demon our Keeper was foolish enough to summon. I am the only survivor of clan Virnehn. I was searching for another clan that would take me in when the Breach appeared. Now I am doing what I can to help with this madness.”

“Ir abelas, lethallan,” Miriel said and Mihris smiled bitterly.

“Ma serannas,” the mage replied before approaching the cave-in.

“We’ll need focused magical energy to get by,” Mihris said as she assessed the wall of rocks, she then turned to Solas who was still hanging back. “You, flat ear, can you manage it?” Miriel wanted to tell Mihris to watch herself when it came to her companions. Insulting Solas was not the way to a friendship, but Solas was capable of defending himself if he wished.

“Ma nuvenin, da’len.” Solas’s words acquiesced to Mihris’s request, but his tone was light enough to cut deep. It was a gracious and defiant response that had Miriel grinning. _Okay Sourpuss, that was pretty good._

He pressed his hand to the rock to gage…well, whatever he needed to gage; Miriel was no mage and did not know what he needed to know to move the giant boulders. Seeming to be satisfied with the rocks, Solas stepped back and raised his arms as he inhaled, moving the boulders up all simultaneously in an impressive, but not flashy display of power.

The moment of victory was short lived, however, as demons poured from the inside. The fighting was quick albeit a bit disorganized. Soon the demons were dispatched and the group walked into the ruin. A soft green light emanated from an oddly shaped torch, bathing the interior in an eerie glow. Further inspection of the torch revealed that this strange light was somehow fire, but it was unlike any fire Miriel had ever seen.

“That’s not normal fire, Boss,” Bull grumbled as he shifted his weight on his feet.

“I have heard of this but never seen it before. It is called veilfire. It is a form of sympathetic magic, a memory of flame that burns in this world where the Veil is thin.” Solas explained, approaching the torch. He unhinged it from the wall and appraised its weight.

“Aw great, more magical spirit demon shit, just what we need,” Bull grumbled, but otherwise didn’t protest. With the veilfire, the group proceeded into the ruin carefully, wary of the thin Veil and of any potential demons lurking in the shadows.

The main chamber held a few more demons, but they were no more powerful than the ones by the entrance. They were easily dealt with. What was more interesting was that at the far end of the chamber was an altar-like area and at its center was a large circular object on a pedestal. In the green light, the object appeared to glow or pulsate with magic so clear that even Miriel was aware of it. This must be the artifact Solas and Mihris were talking about.

Miriel’s marked palm itched as they walked to the artifact, the Fade magicks apparently interacting with each other. It wasn’t a bad itch…just an interesting one. She resisted the urge to touch the artifact, worried that her Mark might cause more problems rather than solve them.

“There. If we activate that crystal, it should react to the strength of the Veil.” Mihris explained before Solas. _What an odd little passive aggressive pissing contest,_ Miriel mused as she observed the artifact.

“Yes, well, how do we activate the crystal?” Miriel asked, resisting the urge to scratch her palm. Solas approached the artifact, raising his hand as it began to glow with old magic.

“Like this,” he said simply as he brought the ancient object back to life. There was almost an instant change in the air. Miriel’s palm ceased to itch and the tingling prickle on her skin abated as the artifact glowed steadily with magic.

“Yes, the wards are helping strengthen the Veil. This area should be safer for travelers now.” Solas seemed pleased and Miriel was glad, despite his tendency for arrogance, she really didn’t want the man actively upset (partly because she was certain he would become absolutely insufferable otherwise). Mihris nodded her approval at the artifact then moved to examine something nearby.

“Well that should prove useful. And it seems the ancestors left something for me as well. Interesting. I believe our alliance is concluded. Go in peace, lethallan,” Mihris bent down and picked up what appeared to be an amulet. Miriel didn’t particularly care if Mihris took it, but apparently Solas did.

“Ma halani, ma glandival. Vir enasalin.” If smoothness had a sound, it would be Solas speaking elven. Despite Miriel’s occasional annoyance with the man, his voice and speech were incredibly (and also annoyingly) sexy. Apparently the fastest way to a Dalish girl’s heart, or at least her smalls, was saying ‘Hey, give us that thing, you owe us one’ in elven.

“I…perhaps you are right. Here. Take it. Go with Mythal’s blessing.” Mihris handed the trinket to Solas, who smiled in return and whispered a quick “Ma serannas” back. Miriel rolled her eyes at the exchange of pride and bravado. Everyone thought that the Dalish didn’t keep more than three mages in a clan at once because it would draw the attention of Templars and demons, but it was actually because there was only so much room for their egos.

Because of the tension between Mihris and Solas, Miriel didn’t think it pertinent to ask Mihris to join the Inquisition. That and because she probably would not have taken well to all the “Praise the Maker!” propaganda around Haven. Miriel could barely tolerate it herself. They left the ruin without Mihris, a win in Solas’s book, Miriel wagered.

Solas’s face had cemented into a condescending expression with his eyebrows slightly lifted and his lips slightly upturned. He wore an air of smugness that made the hair on the back of Miriel’s neck stand up, and not in a good way. She didn’t comment on it though, believing that if they simply removed him from the situation he would calm down. She apparently underestimated the size and potency of his arrogance.

It was hours before they had to set up camp, but Solas’s smugness had not left, in fact it seemed to have grown as they day had worn on. _Annoying,_ Miriel thought as she brought back the hares she had just shot for supper. She sat down by the fire to begin skinning them when Solas sat next to her with his intolerable smug air.

“Hello,” he was, for once, the one to greet her, though she couldn’t imagine why now, when her hands were bloody and she was wielding a rather sharp knife, was the proper time to do such a thing.

“Aneth’ara,” she replied flatly. She knew he was frowning in response without even raising her head to see. There was normally tension between them, but it was never hostile like it was now. _Fuck it all, I need to know what his problem is._

“Solas, I’d be interested in hearing your opinions on elven culture.” There, the bait was out and live, wriggling on a hook just waiting for him to bite. And bite he did.

“I thought you would be more interested in sharing your opinions of elven culture. You are Dalish are you not?” The way the man said ‘Dalish’, an emphasized distaste that subtly distinguished the word from the rest of the sentence. Well two could play this game, _arse._

“My people come from the elves who refused to surrender when humans broke their treaty and destroyed the Dales.” She sneered, defending her people as best she could without actually becoming physical.

“Your Keeper was not wrong about that, at least. We must mark the occasion of the Dalish remembering something correctly. Perhaps we should plant a tree.” He did not just. Miriel resisted the urge to growl whip around and slap him.

“You insult my people.” She knew he knew exactly what he was doing, but her tone was the warning, not the words.

“They insult themselves. Remember, I have walked the memories of the Fade. I have seen the history the Dalish imitate.” This time she did whip around, half-skinned hare in one hand, bloodied knife in the other. She pointed the knife at him, pointedly gesticulating with the sharp object.

“And that makes you oh so wise and better than me, than _us,_ doesn’t it, _hahren_? Excuse me for fighting for the name of my people when _clearly_ my better knows more than I will ever hope to know.” She stood as she spoke, her voice low, intense, and eerily calm. Her eyes bore into his furiously, neither of them blinked and she could see the ire rising in him once more. Without breaking eye contact she tossed the hare into his lap. His head jerked and he blinked in reaction, making her the winner of their little staring contest. He looked up at her, startled and angry, but she just stood over him, handing him the handle of the knife.

“You clearly know everything, Solas, so skin this rabbit, cook it well. I leave supper in your capable hands,” he took the knife seemingly in shock. Miriel then left the fire, wiping her hands on a rag and grabbing her bow and quiver on her way out to the forest. _Fucking asshole._

**

_Typical,_ Solas thought. The Dalish were defensive to a fault about the many failings their people possessed. He should have taken that into account more when interacting with her. As much as she was an abnormality, she was still woefully Dalish, clinging ignorant to a glorified past that never really existed. And what was this nonsense of him believing he was better than her and her people? It was simple fact that he knew the actual history and that the Dalish would rather sit and cry over a false past instead of rectifying their lack of knowledge. There was no belief involved.

Her throwing the rabbit into his lap was childish and born of a short temper that her clan had probably fostered. The problem was that he didn’t exactly know how to properly skin a hare. It seemed simple enough, remove the skin from the muscle without completely mangling the meat. He palmed the knife, feeling the weight in his hand, trying to recall how the Herald had wielded the tool. Perhaps she held it like this? He moved the knife, about to cut the hare.

“WHOA! What do you think you’re doing?!” The Iron Bull was suddenly rushing over, dropping the giant logs he had found for the fire along the way. “That is no way to skin a rabbit!” He took the hare and the knife from the still irritated Solas. Bull shook his head as he sat down and finished skinning the thing.

“I-

“Boss is way better at this than I am, where’d she get to?” Bull asked as he ran a skewer through the hare and setting it atop the fire to cook. He grabbed the next dead hare and began skinning it. Solas remained silent as he watched Bull work, and realized that he had never noticed just how quick and precise Miriel’s movements had ben when preparing food. Bull, while he knew what he was doing, was not nearly as deft or quick as Miriel.

“I don’t know,” Solas finally responded, though he didn’t know if it was an answer to Bull’s question or a realization about why Miriel had left.

Supper was unsurprisingly basic. The hares were unseasoned and since no one had gathered any starch, they had to dig into their rations of dried fruits. Solas preferred fresh to dried fruit, but he also preferred a full belly to an empty one. Bull had once again taken the lion’s share of the food, but that was to be expected since the man was gigantic, and Solas had to remind the man that Miriel still had yet to eat. With a few of the dried fruits and a small cut of rabbit, Solas took off in search of Miriel. He was still frustrated with her, but that did not mean that he wished her to remain angry with him. He did with their relationship to be antagonistic that would ultimately serve neither of them well. So he went in search for her to potentially mend the hostility that was shared earlier.

He believed she had taken off toward the creek in the area, so he began there. It wasn’t long until he heard a rhythmic thumping and the low murmur of muttered oaths.

“- Arrogant- “ thunk.

“-Self-righteous-“ thumk.

“-Pompous-“ thunk.

“-know it all-“ thunk.

“-ASSHOLE!” THUD. Miriel was standing in a small clearing, her bow raised high as she released arrow after arrow at a poor dying tree. Her face was still creased with anger, but it was such a powerful visage to see her in profile, her long undercut pulled back into a pony tail as her eyes bore into the tree as powerfully as her arrows. She treated her bow as extension of herself, no more different from her than her arm. Even with the Vallaslin, in this light she looked more Elvhen than Dalish and his heart felt heavier in his chest. _Odd._ Her ear twitched at his approach and she turned her bow to aim at him.

“I brought you food,” he offered the plate of food, but she did not relax her stance.

“I already ate,” she explained as she moved her bow back to its original position. Taking a chance, he took a step forward.

“I suppose it works well then, supper was rather dull without you,” he tossed the food into the forest, sure that it would help some sort of animal, then set the plate down on a nearby stump where the rest of her quiver rested.

“Flattery gets you nowhere, I am not like your spirits,” she let loose another arrow at the tree, landing squarely at the same height as his mouth.

“So I have noticed,” her brow quirked at his words but otherwise she did not acknowledge his words.

“Have you noticed how annoying your ego is?” She asked as another arrow flew, this time at the height of his ears.

“Excuse me?” Once more he was confused, _ego? I have stripped myself of all position, all of my possessions and wealth are gone, even my name is gone._ Another arrow hit the tree, now at the height of his crotch. He raised his brow at her, “Now, da’len-

“ _That_ ego. You do it and you don’t even notice it. You call me, my people, ignorant, yet you are ignorant of how you present yourself to the world.” She lowered her bow and finally turned to look him in the eye.

“You are egotistical. You believe you know everything because of you have experienced so many things in your dreams. But for the rest of us, those of us who are forced to remain so firmly grounded in the physical, we have no choice but to know this reality. I cannot explore the Fade, most of my brethren cannot either. You damn us for our ignorance, but you do nothing to change it.” Everything about her in this moment was passion, eyes bright with indignation, voice thick with meaning. His face softened as he entered the glade more fully.

“I tried to change it. I tried to share what I have learned, but I was attacked…brutally.” He explained, his left hand subconsciously reaching back to feel the large scar on his left shoulder blade. It was from a sword he had nearly but not totally missed. Miriel’s brow furrowed in concern and she shook her head.

“Ir abelas, I apologize for the acts of some of my very delusional brothers and sisters. We can be…intolerant of strangers, particularly bare-faced elves telling us that he is more skilled than the Keeper. If the Dalish have done you a disservice, I would make that right.” She apologized as she finally walked closer to him. She set her bow down and he sighed.

 “You are right, of course. The fault is mine, for expecting what the Dalish could never truly accomplish. Ir abelas…lethallan. If I can offer any understanding, you have but to ask.” He offered. It was a mighty concession for him, apologizing for something he was now just starting to realize was actually an issue. She cocked her head to the side and a sly expression took over her face.

“What if I asked you to try to understand the Dalish a bit better?” His brow furrowed, _does she enjoy confusing others or is this just her way?_

“That is not what I said,” he explained but she just grinned like the cat who ate the canary.

“But it’s what I asked,” she gave back, her anger rapidly devolving into play. She began to walk around him, her movements containing the barest hint of predator. He turned to follow her, but she was quick and was soon at his back, leaning in to whisper into his ear. “You think you’re up for it, hahren?” He turned around to look at her but she was already moving and standing in front of him, a playful smile in place.

“Is that a challenge?” He asked, playing along. She shrugged and didn’t say anything, but her eyes glinted mischievously in a way that just dared him to go along with her. “Alright, lethallan, show me.” Her grin turned into a full blown smile as she grabbed his hand and took off. He was caught off guard and stumbled a bit but her hold on his hand was firm as she all but dragged him along.

“Where are we going?!” He asked as they ran through the forest. She only laughed.

“You’ll see!” She said back. The sun was already low in the sky and the forest was getting darker and darker. This didn’t seem to concern Miriel, however, as she stepped surely and confidently. Solas was not as lucky. His feet sank into the soft earth, and they were particularly talented at finding mud and the occasional rock. She was patient with him, though, even as she giggled at his filthy feet. His toes were regularly finding rocks creating tender bruises. Everything was chaotic as he followed her, the forest seeming to flash by him in a blur of color. He wasn’t sure why he trusted she knew where they were going, as far he knew she was just running, but had to hope that there was some method to her madness.

They must have run for fifteen minutes before coming to an ugly, steep, stone slop. He stared at the wall of stone, breathing heavily, somewhat disappointed that she had led him here.

“Well this is…different, where are you going?” He noticed she was stooped over, searching for something along the wall. She stopped by a particularly overgrown thatch at the wall. She giggled once more and beckoned him to her.

“Come on,” she said as she suddenly disappeared in the thicket. _What is she up to?_ He followed her into the thicket, hunching over in the small pathway enclosed by branches and leaves. Miriel’s crouched form was ahead, moving much better through the foliage than he. Fortunately they were only in the thicket for a minute before shimmying through a stone crevice. Solas in mid-shimmy when he heard the sound of rushing water over his breathing and heartbeat. _Where are we going -_ As he emerged from the crevice behind Miriel he saw what had to be their destination.

They stood on a small, moss covered cliff that overlooked the village of Redcliffe and the Crossroads. A waterfall trickled overhead, the water falling down in elegant waves on the far side of the cliff. Campfires dotted the landscape, centered around the Crossroads, but also in more remote places, like by Horse master Dennet’s farms. The sky was teal in the afterglow of the sunset, and the nighttime creatures were beginning to rouse from the daytime sleep. Fireflies began to drift lazily through the air, glowing and flickering around them. Night flowers on dark vines clinging to the Cliffside were just about ready to pull their petals apart and welcome the night. An owl hooted its greeting to the night and crickets took up their nightly orchestra routine.

Solas stood on the ledge, gazing out all around him, at a loss for words. Miriel stood next to him, smiling serenely as she looked out.

“The Dalish are like this. A wall of stone that hides a view like none other. It may not be the prettiest view, but it is unique, and one that I am proud to share.” She explained softly. He looked down at the world below them and thought of what she said. Perhaps he had been quick to judge the Dalish, perhaps he had just seen the wall they kept up to protect themselves from the outside. If more people knew of this ledge, they would pluck the flowers from the vines, take and dirty the water. The rock would be blown apart and mined for any potential wealth. Perhaps it was like this for the Dalish – isolation created a barrier to protect those inside, but it came with the price that did not allow anything new or contradictory in. Perhaps…perhaps it was all meant for survival in a world that would rather see them hunted like animals for not conforming to the rest of human society.

“How did you find this place?” He asked, his voice full of wonder. She shrugged.

“I suppose how you find wondrous places in the Fade to explore, I just…look,” she stopped and looked at him, watched him as he looked around in amazement. “You are so in tune with the beauty of the Fade that I think you have forgotten just how beautiful the physical world can be as well.” _I had,_ he realized as he reached out to touch a flower. They stayed like that for a minute, just enjoying the natural beauty around them before Solas turned to her.

“Thank you, lethallan. This is…” for once he struggled with the words in common to convey what he was feeling. It would have been easier in Elvhen, where it the poetic cadence could match the physical beauty of this place.

“Beautiful?” Miriel finished his sentence as she looked back out over the land.

“Yes,” Solas answered, but he was looking at her, not the land. For the first time since meeting her, he felt as if he was finally seeing her. She was small, but by no means delicate. He had seen just how well muscled she was, how even with that muscle she still retained her feminine shape and curves. She was all hues of gold – from her warm honey skin to her golden eyes and almost dirty blonde hair. Her face was defined by high cheek bones and full lips that she would nibble at every now and then. Ears elegantly pointed back, like his, but a bit bigger and longer. He had noticed her beauty almost off-handedly before, but now…it was like opening his eyes and seeing the Fade for the first time.

“We are both part of the People, Solas, we just bear the marks differently.” She said softly, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the breeze.

They stood like that for a couple more minutes before they heard a rustling of leaves.

“Boss! Solas!” Bull called, his voice muffled by the stone wall. It seemed their little magical moment alone was at an end, which was for the best, it was late and it was time to return to camp. So the elves shimmied and crawled out of the secret little place, startling Bull.

“Oh, did I interrupt something? Sorry,” Bull wiggled his brow suggestively and Miriel just rolled her eyes.

“No, I was just teaching Solas about the Dalish,” she explained, but Bull just nodded.

“Going native, Solas? Niiiice.”

“Bull!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I won't have access to my computer on Friday, I decided to do an early update for today! Yaaaay! It's a Thanksgiving present.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. If you liked it, please leave kudos, comment (even if you don't like it, leave some constructive criticism, I want to improve). Also, this chapter pairs well with "Colors of the Wind" from Pocahontas.


	7. Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's bath time and the elves struggle with the concept of knocking. Mildly NSFW for nudity and suggestive themes, nothing explicit though.

They were meeting with the mages in two days, and the situation in Redcliffe looked bad. As in a-Tevinter-Magister-somehow-showed-up-and-managed-to-enslave-the-mages-in-less-than-a-fortnight bad.

“Leave it to the Vints to make a shit storm apocalypse worse,” Bull had muttered as they walked around town. They were meeting with the mages in two days because apparently no one had been expecting them. Miriel had tried explaining that the Grand Enchanter herself had invited the Inquisition, but nobody was listening to them. So they had met with a servant (probably actually a slave that Miriel was thisclose to freeing) to schedule a preliminary appointment with Magister Gereon Alexius. An appointment. In the middle of an apocalypse. It was madness, complete and utter lunacy. Dammit, they didn’t have two days, every day more Rifts opened and threatened Thedas. Making the Inquisition wait these two days was a gesture of power, and Miriel hated it. Fucking Vints and their fucking slavery policies.

They were staying at an inn, and since all the mages had been forcefully relocated to the castle, the inn was vacant seeing as none of the refugees could afford the rooms. The inn owner had given the group two rooms and had even offered to draw each person a bath for the slightly increased price of one room. It was the bath that sealed the deal since they were all in desperate need of a good scrubbing (especially Bull, that man produced so much pungent sweat that they should bottle it and throw it as stink bombs).

Everyone had wanted Miriel to go first, but she wanted to eat first, along with both Bull and Cassandra. That meant that Solas took the first bath slot. He had been slightly hesitant about the idea, but as he sunk into the hot water, all his hesitation slipped away. The water, while slightly uncomfortable with its heat, eased his muscles and he was slightly surprised to feel just how worn they were. This soaking time was also the perfect time to properly stitch up a large laceration he had received from a Bandit a few hours ago. He first began by scrubbing every inch of himself clean with his bar of soap, taking special care of his injury. The soap and water stung but it wasn’t awful.

He then leaned out of the tub and rifled through his small kit – razor kit…elfroot salve (he figured for such a relatively small laceration it would not require the salve)…insect bite ointment…and the stich/sewing kit. He leaned back in the tub and tried to inspect his injury. Unfortunately the laceration was on his upper right arm, making it difficult for him to see what he was doing and forcing him to use his non-dominant hand. _This is going to be annoying,_ he sighed but began his work. First he gripped the needle and heated it to sanitize it, then threaded the catgut. With a deep breath he began to try to stitch the wound close.

**

Supper was a typical Ferelden dish – sausage and a white puree that the humans called mashed potatoes. It was tasty at least, and it seemed to go over great with Bull who was on his third serving. He winked (blinked?) at the serving girl who giggled and leaned forward to give him a better view of her cleavage. As she skipped away, Bull grinned and leaned back.

“Redheads,” he sighed happily. Miriel just rolled her eyes and returned to her meal. She was chewing on a piece of sausage when she remembered the schematic they had found in Valammar. It was for a piece of a sword, that much was clear, but it was all in Qunlat.

“Hey Bull, would you mind translating a schematic from Qunlat into common for the blacksmith back at Haven?” She asked, her mouth still full of sausage and potatoes.

“No problem, why don’t you get the thing now, don’t imagine I will have much time later.” He said as he watched the girl pour some men beer. She glanced over at him and blushed, quickly looking down, biting her lip.

“You think she can handle little Bull?” Miriel teased she rose from her seat.

“I’ll make sure she can, and there is nothing ‘little’ about Bull.” Miriel laughed at Bull as she stepped up the stairs. She was still smiling as she walked down the narrow hallway to the room she would be sharing with Cassandra (and most likely Solas as well if Bull continued with the serving girl). She was opening the door to her room when she heard what sounded like grunting from the bathing room.

“Fenedhis!” A decidedly in pain voice hissed from inside the room, accompanied with grunts and growls. Without even thinking Miriel opened the door to the room.

“SOLAS! Are you okay?!” She asked near panicked as she scanned the room for any Tevinter magisters that may be trying to steal him. The room was empty though, containing only a few cupboards for storage, the stone bath, and a very naked and bleeding Solas. With how he was laying in the bath, his back was to her, but he turned around when she had entered, shocked.

“Herald!” He almost leapt out of the water in surprise at her being there. She rubbed her forehead and he seemed to turn a light shade of pink as he shifted in the water.

“I heard swearing and grunting, and that isn’t like you, and I thought that maybe a Vint or someone came in and were – what are you doing?” She finally calmed down to see that his left hand was holding a small needle that was attached to a thin catgut.

“Stitching my arm,” Solas explained flatly, raised eyebrows lowering into annoyed furrows and his mouth setting into a slight scowl. She squinted at his arm.

“Well you’re doing a shite job of it.” She walked fully into the room after kicking shut the door. She strode to the bath despite his scowl.

“Lavellan, this is highly inappropriate-

“You’re doing more harm than good, and didn’t you numb the area? You shouldn’t be feeling any pain,” she kneeled next to the bath and began examining his arm, holding it still as she looked at the wound.

“The laceration is not that large, the numbing salve was not necessary.”

“Solas, it runs half the length of your bicep, where is the salve?” She stood up and looked around the room before her eyes landed on his pack. _Probably in there,_ she ruffled through the pack and pulled out the bottle. She screwed off the lid, dabbed her fingers in it and then rubbed it on his arm as gently as possible. Solas hissed but didn’t move away. While his face was emotionless, his muscles were rigid with pain. She hated causing him the pain, but the salve would soon work and he wouldn’t be feeling anything. In an attempt to distract him from any discomfort, she tried to strike up a conversation.

“Could you tell me about the elves from before our time?” She asked.

“Why so suddenly interested?” He asked.

“You said that if there was anything I wanted to know about the elves, I could ask, so I’m asking. What were they like?” She could tell the salve was beginning to work the way his body was beginning to ease up. He sunk slightly more into the water.

“The Dalish strive to remember Halamshiral, but Halamshiral was merely a fumbling attempt to recreate a forgotten land.” He began as she hold of the needle and catgut.

“Arlathan,” she said as she undid his previous work so that she could stitch him properly without any future complications.

“Elvhenan was the empire, and Arlathan its greatest city. A place of magic and beauty, lost to time.” His voice was full of poetry and keening nostalgia as he spoke of Arlathan. It was clear he longed to see the ancient city, to live in that civilization. What stories had he witnessed that had affected him so? His desire for it sounded so much stronger than the simple desire to live in a world where he would not be persecuted or chained for being a mage.

“What else do you know of Arlathan?” Once his original work on his stitches had been undone, she began to stich the wound close.

“We hear stories of them living in trees and imagine wooden ramps or Dalish aravels. Imagine instead spires of crystal twining through the branches, palaces floating among the clouds. Imagine beings who lived forever, for whom magic was as natural as breathing. That is what was lost.” He was so wistfully sad that it was near heartbreaking.

“I’m sorry.” She said. He turned his head to look at her in confusion.

“Why are you apologizing? You are not the cause for the fall of the ancient elves.”

“I know, but I am sorry that you were not able to live in that time, to see such wonders. It sounds like seeing the loss of even what the memories of the Fade possess are so deeply personal for you. So I am sorry that you did not get to witness the greatness with your own eyes and must settle for the interpretations for long faded memories.” She explained. His expression turned from confused to something close to admiration and shock.

“Thank you, lethallan, your…regret is unexpected, but not unwelcome.” She gave a small smile.

“You’re welcome. Now, what do you know about the Dalish?” She redirected the conversation again, knowing that she was only a quarter of the way done with the stitches. She was no healer and she was being as careful as possible. Her taking her time had nothing to do with his voice or him sitting naked in tub. Of course not. That would be ridiculous.

“Your clan was unique in having enough interest in human affairs to send you to spy upon the Divine’s meeting. As your clans have been separate for so long, they have all changed, adapting to the lands in which they live. Some are no more than bandits, others trade freely with humans, and some have disappeared entirely into the forests.”

“The clans that disappear into the forests are scary. I know the humans fear the bandit like clans but the ones in the forests are all in bred at this point and many of them have gone a bit insane. My clan encountered a couple of them over the years, and every time we did it was always disturbing. One clan participated in ritualistic cannibalism while another claimed that the best way to avoid the Dread Wolf was to scare him. They apparently scared him by eating wolves. Watching that ceremony was…one of the most disturbing nights of my life.” She resisted the urge to shiver at recalling sitting around the fire with the alarmingly pale elves as they brought forth a dead wolf. They didn’t even cook the thing, they just skinned it and then passed the carcass around, each person taking a bite out of it. Faces covered in blood illuminated by the single fire crowding the space. Her father had kept her and her sister close as he stared down the leering men of the other clan who were eyeing Rana.

“That is rather disconcerting, yes,” Solas said worried. Miriel shook the memory off and focused back on the needle and his flesh.

“If you do not mind me asking, what is your clan like?” He asked and she beamed.

“Of course I don’t mind! Well, for starters, my clan is _big_ , as in there are talks about splitting into two clans when Alathar, the current first, is of age.” Miriel began. Solas’s brows rose in surprise.

“That is impressive.”

“About twenty years ago we had a really good couple of years with food and avoiding humans – lots of babies.” So many babies, Creators they had been heavily blessed those years.

“That makes sense. Were you among that number?” He asked and she could feel the ‘how old are you, exactly’ question looming not so subtly in the air.

“Nope, I was five years earlier.” She answered and he took in a noticeably deep breath.

“You are young.” He stated and she rolled her eyes.

“Really? I had no idea.”

“Must you always be sarcastic?” He chastised and she gave a short laugh.

“Ah, and the pot calls the kettle black. And I am only sarcastic when someone points out the obvious.”

“I am not sarcastic. I have wit.”

“Ooh, so when I get all old and wrinkly I can call it wit instead of sarcasm? Wonderful!”

“Do you enjoy amusing yourself at my expense? And I am not wrinkly.” He huffed. Miriel smiled before moving her hand to gently touch at the skin next to his eye.

“What do you call these then?” She teased.

“Character. Now, you were telling me about your clan.”

“Ah yes, clan Lavellan. Let’s see. Our Keeper is Deshanna Istimaethoriel, the Halla Keeper is Nahlin and my sister, Rana, is his apprentice along with Fyrin. We roam primarily in the Free Marches and even north into Antiva. We cross paths with two other clans rather frequently and a couple years ago even ran into clan Sabrae at Kirkwall. We did not stay there long.”

“You have a sister?” He asked and she nodded, an absent minded smile spreading across her face.

“Two. Rana is three years older and Maren is twelve years younger.”

“That is quite the age difference.”

“Yeah, Maren was quite the surprise.” Her voice trailed off as the old pain glimmered in her chest. Solas watched her intently and moved his head to try and see her eyes.

“And your parents?” He asked softly. Miriel sighed and resumed her stitching.

“Mother followed Falon’Din when she gave birth to Maren. Father followed her three years later during a shem raid.” The memory of standing over her mother’s lifeless body, still bloated from carrying Maren, horridly pale, was clear as day in Miriel’s memory. But the raid…was not so clear. There was fire and almost the distant feeling of pain and fire over skin. Screams echoed in the distant corners of her mind. Distressed from the memories, Miriel shook her head and focused herself back to Solas’s arm.

“So, um, what can you tell me about elves living in human cities?” Her voice wavered a bit but otherwise remained calm. Solas hesitated briefly before answering.

“The culture in alienages or among the slaves of Tevinter is like any of the impoverished and powerless. They cling to memories of a better past and practice a few rituals to distinguish themselves from humans.”

“Sera doesn’t practice any elven like rituals.” Miriel countered and Solas laughed low.

“Sera is an aberration of all things normal,” Solas replied.

Miriel giggled, “Oh she is! But she is fun,” she was almost done with his stitches, but had to stop briefly as her shoulders were shaking from the silent laughter about Sera.

“Truly? You find her antics to be enjoyable?” He seemed surprised, which surprised her.

“Well, yeah. We can’t all be fuddy duddies like you and find old memories to be the only fun things around.” She ended the stitches and cut the catgut.

“What is a…fuddy duddy?” He asked hesitantly and she looked at him incredulous.

“You know…a party pooper.” His brows came together and he looked offended as he leaned back in his tub.

“I would never do such a thing!” He said hotly and Miriel laughed at his indignation.

“It’s not a literal party pooper, it just means someone who is very practical and doesn’t do a lot of frivolous things.” She explained and he seemed to calm down a bit, but still confused.

“Why would you mock a practical person?” His question just made her laugh harder. She could tell he was a bit uncomfortable so she calmed down and smiled broadly at him.

“I was just teasing, Solas. I don’t actually think you’re a fuddy duddy.” She really didn’t, he was a different sort of fun than Sera. While the girl was all action and loudness, Solas was a much quieter, subtler excitement. His was the kind of excitement that made the hairs on your body stand straight up from an electrified air, or listening to a beautiful story. Sera offered a night of revelry that you may or may not remember in the morning while Solas provided the potential of a lifetime of discovery. It was…oddly enticing. _Annoying and arrogant to enticing,_ she thought, but if she was being honest with herself, she had always found this aloof apostate to be alluring. _As mamae used to say, a wise man is a sexy man, and Solas oozes wisdom._

Solas made a small noise in response and then checked out her stitches. He moved his arm and was about to flex when she put a hand on him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She playfully slapped his hand away, “I need to bandage it, keep it nice and safe.” She grabbed a cloth out of his pack and inspected it for cleanliness. Sure that it was clean, she rubbed some more elfroot salve on his arm and then wrapped it with the cloth. Solas watched her all the while, his grey-blue eyes oddly intense as she doctored him.

“It is surprising to see a hunter be so skilled in stitching.” He commented as she finished up, and she shrugged as she put his belongings away.

“Not really. The healers don’t travel with us when we hunt and sometimes one of us will need stitches or other attention, so we all learned how to put each other back together long enough for us to see a proper healer. Dinas, my hunting partner, was always getting cut up in some way or another. A low branch, an angry bird – you name it. I got pretty skilled at stitching him.” She stood up and stretched out her back.

“Well, I should let you get back to your bath, and Bull is probably wondering where I am with that schematic.” She walked to the door and just as she was about to leave he called out to her.

“Thank you, lethallan,” he said and she turned around smiling.

“Your welcome.” And then she closed the door behind her and grabbed the schematic, returning downstairs to see the serving girl in Bull’s lap. The girl was giggling madly at something Bull said or the fact that she was sitting on a Qunari’s lap and actually finding him charming. Miriel hung back, a small happy smile on her face.

**

Bull never did get around to translating that schematic for Miriel, but she didn’t mind. There would be time later…at some point…hopefully. The man had been kind at least to flat out disappear with the girl and not bring her into the room he was sharing with Solas. And with Solas out of the bath (finally, how did a man without hair take so long in the bath?), it was Miriel’s turn. She was relieved to finally be able to scrub the week’s filth off of her, and maybe relax her muscles. _Such simple and wondrous luxuries._

She walked into the room and set her things next to the bath before stripping off her tunic and leggings. As she pulled off her tunic she felt a strain in her shoulder, so she walked over to the mirror at the end of the room to inspect if there was any bruising. She twisted slightly and inspected her shoulder discovering a large bruise, _damned bandits._ She cursed, but she was thankful that all she had was a bruise and not a significant wound, because judging by the expanse and severity of the bruise, a wound could have been completely debilitating.

Satisfied that her bruised shoulder would be fine, her eyes moved to the rest of her body. As a hunter, Miriel was expected to be lithe and strong, and as an elven woman, it was hoped that she was beautiful. Beauty in the Dalish culture was different than from the humans and probably even the city elves. A woman was beautiful if she was slender and almost totally androgynous, with only a subtle swell of the breast and flare of the hip. Miriel was decidedly _not_ androgynous, and becoming curvier the longer she stayed in Haven with the humans. Their milk, breads, and other rich foods were doing a number on her figure, _oh Creators, my ass is huge._ She had noticed how her leggings were getting tighter, but she hadn’t paid that much attention. But looking in the mirror now, it was hard to ignore. She sighed, _the longer I am here, the less Dalish I am._ It shouldn’t have really bothered her, but she hated feeling even more distance between her and her people.

Miriel sighed, about to turn from the mirror when the door to the room suddenly opened.

“Sorry to intrude, lethallan, but I left my pack – oh!” Solas entered the room and she instinctively turned around, exposing herself. Solas had whipped around hurrying to leave when she smirked.

“If you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask!” She called out as he practically ran out of the room. She laughed and shook her head. Even if her body wasn’t what she wanted it to be, she was unashamed of it, but Solas’s sense of propriety would demand that he feel shame and embarrassment for seeing her in this state. _Oh the look on his face must have been hilarious!_

**

_Why in the world didn’t I knock?!_ Solas was berating himself for barging in on Miriel like that, figuring that she was in her bath by then. Now the image of her…backside was burned into his mind. _She had not lied about the paw print on her rear._ His heart was pounding and he didn’t know why, _yes you do, Miriel is beautiful, you knew this and now saw her bare, of course you’re aroused._ Gone was the aloof apostate façade, replaced with an aroused ancient elf who could not deny the appeal of Miriel. The woman was not just strong and flexible, but curvy, _the ass on her – STOP._ No, he could not afford to be thinking about her this way. She was the Herald, and the leader of the Inquisition in all but name, she was also frighteningly mortal. As skilled and beautiful and wise as she was, having these thoughts and emotions for her was terribly unwise. _She is condemned, you know this, your Mark…._

His body didn’t care if it was unwise, however. His blood had headed south against all logic. He had given up the temptations of the physical world and life to find a deeper connection with the Fade, to humble himself from his arrogant past. He had not counted on a woman like Miriel, though. And it was not simply her physical beauty that attracted him to her, truly if it was just that then he would have been in trouble many other times. It was…her. He had no other way of describing it, no other words sufficient enough to describe what exactly it was that drew him to her. Perhaps it was the way she was so eager to listen to him, or how she wasn’t shy about correcting him or challenging his thinking. Perhaps it was the way she smiled every time she saw him in the morning. Or the way she asked Bull about his people and showed kindness to all regardless of their station. Perhaps it was all of it. _Fenedhis._

_Stop. This. Now._ But it was too late to be stopped, and now he could only manage this attraction. He returned to his room and pulled out a book out of his main pack. It was a dry tome about the meditation practices of a long forgotten Tevinter cult that worshipped a spirit of content. It was written in an old, convoluted style that required the utmost concentration to read. With deep breaths and shaky hands, he picked up the tome and began to read.

It was about an hour and seventy pages later when there was a soft knock at his door.

“Come in,” he said absent mindedly as he turned the page. The door creaked open and then closed as soft feet walked into the room.

“I brought your bag back,” Solas looked up when he heard Miriel’s voice. Her hair was wet and face scrubbed clean of all of the dirt and grime from the road. She looked exceedingly young in her oversized tunic and loose leggings. She set his bag down next to his bed and was about to leave when he spoke up.

“Ah, Herald, I apologize for earlier, I was rash and not thinking.” He kept his voice and level and avoided directly looking at her. But despite not looking at her, he could sense her smirk and rolling eyes as she walked back into the room.

“What’s there to apologize for? You had forgotten your bag, and I walked in on you earlier. It works out,” she said.

“I saw you in a state of undress-

“Nudity isn’t really that big of a deal in my clan, especially among the hunters, and _especially_ since I was one of the only women hunters.” _It doesn’t matter if it was not an issue for you, it was for me._ He felt his earlier annoyance prickle, but he was not entirely sure if it was directed towards her or the attraction heating his belly. _Both?_

“Thank you for returning my bag, now I would like to return to my book.” He looked back to his tome but then felt her ease closer to look over his shoulder.

“Oh, meditation. Lynnan always tried to get me to meditate with her, I wasn’t very good at it.”

“I wonder why.” Solas muttered, trying to focus. He read a page before realizing that she had not left and was just watching him read. Exasperated, he sat his book down. “Is there something you need, Herald?” She fidgeted with her hands for a moment, biting her lip before she dropped onto the bed with a huff.

“This whole mage situation has me worried, Tevinter magisters and slavery are never good things in my book. I am wondering if we should just give up on the mages and go speak to the Templars.” She had sought him for counsel, that or she was mocking him. A quick look at her concerned face told him that she was not mocking him, _she…wants my opinion._

“I believe my opinion on this matter would be biased.” He told her and she waved him off.

“But you’re honest, and I trust your opinion. Cassandra and Bull would damn the mages for allying with Tevinter, but something keeps bothering about the situation, like the mages were coerced or something. I want your opinion because it is steeped in magical knowledge; am I right to want to help them?” Solas turned fully to her, meeting her gaze straight on. He was honored that she would seek him for such important counsel, but also somewhat concerned, he did not want her to become dependent.

“It has been my experience that when your instincts are telling you something, you listen to them. What are your instincts telling you?” She was pensive for a moment before clearly coming to a conclusion. Her mouth turned into a determined line as she nodded.

“More is going on than we know, we need to help the mages, and we can’t wait two damn days to do it either.” She ran a hand through her wet hair clearly still frustrated.

“What do you intend to do about it?” He prompted her, knowing that this gentle guiding was what she needed and what needed to be done. She closed her eyes and exhaled.

“We’re talking with them first thing tomorrow, I don’t care if it’s inconvenient for them. We need mages for the Breach and it looks like the mages need the Inquisition to shake off their Tevinter captors.” Solas smiled at her fierce determination. He believed her need for counsel was done but her expression was still one of distant concern. Her brow was crinkled and her fingers continued to worry at the blanket she sat on before she stood up and made her way to the door. Before she could leave, Solas stopped her.

“What else is bothering you, lethallan?” He asked and she hesitated by the door. She turned around, nibbling at her bottom lip. _It is not annoying, she is just naturally alluring, just like I am a mage,_ he told himself, trying to stamp down the arousal that would not leave him.

“It’s stupid, don’t worry,” she made to leave the room again when he stood and walked over to her.

“You can tell me anything, lethallan,” he said impulsively, already kicking himself for showing how he wanted her to be open with him. _It is wrong to ask openness of her when I am not providing the same._

She worried her lip some more before reluctantly answering.

“My body is different since coming to Haven…fuller, less elven, it is just disappointing to see another way that I am farther from my clan, is all.” _What is she talking about?_ Miriel looked as elven as she could. _And what’s wrong with looking fuller when it meant having an ass like that? STOP._

“This…this is-

“Stupid and embarrassing, forget I said anything,” she made to go but he closed the door before she could even step into the frame.

“Lethallan, I simply do not understand how a beautiful woman such as you can be disappointed with her body.” He met her eyes, her cheeks flushing in response to the intensity of his gaze.

“Perhaps her body does not conform to the beauty ideals of her people,” Miriel replied. _Ah,_ another odd development from the Dalish it seemed, was its lack of appreciation for women who didn’t look malnourished or underdeveloped.

“I am unfamiliar with Dalish beauty standards, this is true, but I am certain that you are, beyond without a doubt, a beautiful woman who should be proud of the body and spirit she has,” he told her, impulsively reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind her ear.

 “Oh,” her voice was soft and she wasn’t moving from the door. He suddenly realized just how close they were standing and how smooth and soft her skin had felt. She had to look up to meet his eyes, naturally angling her lips towards his. He felt her warm breath against the column of his neck and his skin prickled at the sensation. It had been so long since he had indulged in the touch of another. Longer still since he had felt as if the other truly wished to be with _him_ and not his station. Miriel knew nothing of his historical position and had still chosen to speak with him, hear his counsel, and learn from his wisdom. And she was standing a breath away.

Her head moved slightly forward and against his better judgment, Solas reacted by moving his head toward hers. Her breath warmed his face briefly before sense reclaimed him. He leaned away and strode back into the room, clearing his throat.

“Thank you for being open with me, Herald.” He picked up his forgotten book, trying to regain himself as she stood in the doorframe.

“Oh, okay,” he heard her turn and open the door, but the door didn’t close. “Thank you, Solas, for listening.” He turned to face her and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Of course.” Her mouth quirked up and then she left, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Solas exhaled, skin still prickling at the lingering sensation of her breath upon his throat, fingers tingling from where their skin had touched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two updates are going to happen at weird times because I will be traveling and updating on Fridays will just be impossible. There will be updates, though! I promise.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. Please leave kudos if you liked it and comment away! I love hearing from you guys.


	8. Ironic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SFW. Solas helps Miriel with her hair.

While mages poured into Haven after the events in Redcliffe, Miriel, Bull, Dorian, and Solas were making their way to a bog in southern Ferelden known as the Fallow Mire. Leliana had received word while Miriel was dealing with the mages that a full patrol of soldiers in southern Ferelden had been captured by an Avvar tribesman who wished to challenge the Herald of Andraste. Apparently being chosen by the human god’s prophetess meant that the man could challenge her with the will of his own gods. Of course it didn’t matter that she had repeatedly denied that she was in any sort of way chosen by any deity. Nope, all that mattered was this man could use her death as a status stepping stone. So here they were, traipsing through knee high muddy water and fighting undead in a bid to rescue the soldiers.

Miriel had no issue with finding and rescuing the captured soldiers and deal with the hostile Avvar. What she was not happy about was that she had apparently left her razor back at Haven. She groaned after reexamining the contents of her pack and her razor still not magically appearing. Normally, this wasn’t too much of a problem, but she hadn’t cleaned up the sides of her hair in two months and now the growth was at this horribly awkward length that stuck straight out. It was annoying and unattractive, but it would have to do…or would it? Her mind wandered to the bald elf in her company, as it often did, but instead of focusing on his voice or the way he could make anything sound interesting, she focused on his head. He was bald…but maybe because he _chose_ to be, and if he did choose to be that way, then he had a razor for shaving.

With renewed hope of taming the thing on her head once known as her hair, Miriel brushed her hair, dressed and snuck out of her tent, heading for Solas’s. She kept silent in the near morning, making sure that Dorian didn’t spy her in her messy array, knowing full well that the man would never let her live it down. At Solas’s tent she knocked awkwardly, hoping that he would hear her. She heard some mussing around in the tent and then Solas was untying the flap and peaking his shiny bald head out.

“Lethallan, is there something you require?” He asked, hints of sleep still present in his voice. _Damn this man and his sexy voice. Purpose, Miri, purpose!_

“Uh, yes, may I come in?” With a quizzical look Solas’s head receded back into his tent, he then untied the rest of the flap, pulling it open for Miriel. She kept her squatting posture and well…waddled into his tent. _Look at you, the dignified Herald of Andraste of clan Lavellan, waddling like an idiot in front of potentially the most interestingly sexy man you have ever met…and you’re about to ask him for his razor._ Miriel considered throwing a funeral later for her potential sex life.

Solas sat down on his bedroll while Miriel sat on the floor, her legs crossed and despite needing something, she remained quiet, an awkward silence falling over them.

“Lethallan?” Solas asked, trying to prompt her, reminding her why she was here.

“Oh yes, um…this is sort of an awkward question, but…do you shave your head?” That was the wrong opening question. Solas did a double take, seeming very confused.

“Excuse me?” He asked.

“I mean, I forgot my razor back at Haven and I was hoping that you shave your head because then you would have a razor that I could maybe, potentially borrow?” _So eloquent, Miri, you should add that to the list of your many fine and awkward qualities._ Solas arched his brow then his eyes crinkled in mirth.

“I do in fact have a razor, but I am unsure if I should lend it out,” she felt her ears droop in disappointment, knowing well enough that the man was probably possessive of the few possessions he seemed have.

“But,” her ears perked up at his condition, “I may be persuaded to help you…if I wield the razor.” That was…unexpected, but not unwelcome. Her eyes went wide and he grinned mischievously.

“Do you know how to work this hairstyle? Because it is pretty different from just shaving everything off,” she said as she moved so that she sat between his legs, the hairs on her neck raising at his close proximity. She heard rustling behind her, and she tilted her head instinctively to hear him better as he calmly removed his razor case from his pack. She heard the low sound of him opening the case then setting it down next to him.

“I do, in fact, know how to work with this hairstyle. Lean back and tilt your head to the right.” She did as he instructed, her skin suddenly hypersensitive when his hand pulled all her hair over to the right, exposing the left side of her head. She felt the slight graze of his finger tips on her skull and the general pleasant feeling of a man running his hands through her hair. She resisted leaning into his touch, forgoing the shaving and just going for a scalp massage. Or sensual ear touching, _nope, nope, not going there._ But she didn’t lean in, and he stopped running his hand through her hair…to cradle her head as he began to run the razor against her skin just below her ear.

“Do not move, I do not wish to nick you,” he warned in a soft tone and she smiled as she remained still.

“Hmm, maybe not, maybe you are an assassin and you have been waiting for this moment for weeks, when just a little nick could kill me.” She played unable to help herself.

“Is my plan that transparent?” Bless the man who plays along, she resisted from giggling and moving her body.

“I see right through you, I bet your name isn’t even Solas.” She jokingly accused. His hand haltered briefly before resuming its task.

“What else would my name be, lethallan?” She squinted her eyes as she thought, biting her lip as she came up with a good name.

“Din’mi, because you kill of course.” She offered and he laughed low.

“So easily she guesses my nature!” Miriel closed her eyes as she enjoyed the sensation of his hand slowly slightly repositioning her head. Heat trailed after his fingers and went straight to her heart and belly. Her lips parted slightly and she suppressed a shiver.

“I am very observant after all,” she replied nigh breathlessly.

“That you are, lethallan,” he murmured as he removed the razor from her skull and returning a knuckle that burned a trail from behind her ear to tracing the top of her jaw. Her breath caught in her chest, her eyes slowly opened, but she did not dare move her head as his knuckle ghosted hotly over her skin.

“Solas?” She said quietly, almost inaudibly, but he heard her and it broke his little reverie. His knuckle left the soft skin of her jaw, but his razor did not immediately return to her scalp.

“Oh, yes” he cleared his throat, “I was wondering if you are open to a small adjustment in your hairstyle.” He recovered so quickly from the encounter that she almost frowned, _is he affected by me at all?_ She wondered.

“I knew it! You want to shave me bald, but I have news for you, not everyone can sport the look you’ve got going, lethallin.” She bantered to shield how she was affected and he gave another low laugh.

“No, not shave you, but instead of shaving all of this off, what about creating a subtle fade to where your long hair is instead of having this stark line?” He was actually making a valid suggestion about hair. She would have been disappointed if she hadn’t liked his idea so much…and if he hadn’t run the tip of his finger against the line between her long and short hair.

“That sounds nice…how do you know so much about hair, particularly this hairstyle?” She inquired as he resumed the shaving and cutting.

“You pick up certain skills traveling, many skills if you have traveled as long as I.” She processed his words and it slowly all made sense.

“Fen’Harel’s ass, you had an undercut!” She knew he would move the razor from her head when she dropped the Dread Wolf’s name, allowing her to turn around and look him in the eye.  She was grinning broadly and his cheeks were red. _Totally busted._

“I was young once – and what are you doing?” She had reached up to plant a hand on his head, he tried to maneuver out from under her hand but she just moved with him.

“Trying to visualize you with hair. What color is your hair anyway?” She suddenly leaned in close to get a good look at his eyebrows.

“Lethallan…” he tried to lean away but she held him there, her face incredibly close to his. He could feel her breath and the heat coming off of her body.

“Your brows are this copper dirty blonde color…Creators! You’re a redhead!” She leaned away, beaming with happiness at her discovery. He harrumphed as he resituated himself on the bedroll.

“It’s less red and more just a light copper brown,” he mumbled as he touched his head self-consciously. She just continued to grin.

“You’re a ginger! I should’ve known, you’re so fiery.” She teased and he quirked a brow as he scowled.

“Clearly,” he said sarcastically, raising a glowing hand of ice. She giggled in response.

“Why did you cut it? I bet you look handsome with hair.” He shrugged but she just gave him that _look_ that meant that she wasn’t going to let it go. He sighed, but before he could answer she had already created a reason.

“You were starting to grey weren’t you? You know some women find a bit of grey hair on a man to be sexy.” She bit her lip as she met his eyes in a short, heated moment.

“Some women? Like you, lethallan?” Now _he_ was teasing _her._ She dipped her head and batted her eyelashes at him.

“Maybe,” she said coyly and as much as he tried to disguise his playful grin, the corners of his mouth tilted up and the lines of around his eyes creased.

“Unfortunately, the reason is much more of a practical nature. This,” he gestured up to his skull, “is much more manageable than a long, flowing mane.” Her eyes went wide.

“You had a mane?!” This time he simply gave her a mock expression of exasperation, bringing the razor in his hand back into her attention.

“Do you want me to finish your hair or not?” She resumed her position with her back to him, but her silly grin remained. He resumed his task, the sound of hair being cut filled the space.

“I have been wondering something, if you will indulge me,” _I will indulge you in anything, oh em, that is not what he meant, and you know it._

“Hmm?”

“What exactly were you doing at the Conclave?” He asked.

“I was spying on the peace talks, I was sent by my Keeper.” She explained, _didn’t everybody already know this?_

“Yes, I know that part, but why were _you_ specifically there? Surely your clan would be bereft of such a skilled hunter.” Complimenting her hunting skills? If he was Dalish she would have sworn he was trying to get into her smalls.

“Well…they had certain cause to send _me_ in particular.” She wasn’t so sure she wanted to tell him this, not because she was uncomfortable with telling the tale, she was just unsure of how he would react to it. It was a very Dalish tale and reason.

“If you do not wish to tell me-

“It’s not that, it’s…you have to promise to not get mad or weird or condescending, okay?” There was a pause, both in conversation and him sheering her.

“I promise.” He said hesitantly, unsure of what he was getting into. She sighed and began.

“I was sent to observe because the elders in my clan believe I drew the gaze of the Dread Wolf when I failed to complete our clan’s annual large offering to him.” The words came out fast and she waited for him to get moody and condescending like he always did when it came to the Dalish’s religion. Instead he laughed, actually laughed. _Boggling man._

“And how did you fail this offering?” The man was actually mirthful, _of all the odd things he has done, this takes the cake._

“Once a year, around the autumn, a young Dalish elf sets up the Fen’Harel statue a good distance from the clan, and then begins to prepare. This preparation takes three weeks, which means the clan has to stay in one place for three weeks. It is a very risky offering, but it is viewed as the most important since this prevents drawing His gaze. Last year, it was my turn to prepare and give the offering. So we set up, I prepared, and was making my sojourn from where we were camped to where I had set up the statue. The statue was a good mile and a half away, this ensured safety for the clan when Fen’Harel came to take his offering. I was on the last leg of the walk, carrying pounds of fresh meat, herbs to burn, and incense, when I was set upon a pack of wolves. To make it clear to the Dread Wolf that I was not trying to deceive him, I was unarmed and unable to defend myself. I tried to run from the wolves, but that was a foolish attempt, they just thought it was good exercise before they got their meal. Lucky for me, they were only interested in the meat I was carrying and really not for me. In a snap decision, I tossed them the meat then scrambled up a tree. I waited for them to finish their meal before returning to the clan. I didn’t even have to explain it to the Keeper, she knew.” Miriel took a long breath, it was not an easy tale to tell, and while Solas believed her religion to be superstition, it was very much a part of Miriel’s life, and had been there for its entirety.

“I tried to convince the Keeper that I could replicate the offering in days, but we had to leave immediately, the nearby humans were already getting ready to forcibly drive us away. We left the next day. The elders in the clan refused to make eye contact with me, and only my sisters, my older sister’s husband, and my hunting partner would spend time with me. The man I was promised to backed out of the engagement. Five months after the failed offering, I was packed up and sent to the Conclave.” It was only when she mentioned her engagement that she felt a shift in energy in the tent. Solas’s hand had stilled and when he spoke, she could hear the frown in his voice.

“Your people treated you that way because you were attacked by a pack of wolves that ruined a superstitious ritual?” He whispered, and she rolled her eyes, _here we go._

“No, they treated me that way because they believe that the failed ritual drew the gaze of a god we fear.” She attempted to clarify but the tension remained.

“They fear him because of a story, a story that varies from clan to clan, you do realize this?” He sneered and this time she frowned.

“Yes, but do not underestimate the power of stories, Solas.” She said firmly.

“I do not underestimate them, but those stories are most likely false.”

“It doesn’t matter if they are false, Solas, don’t you see? It is what they, what I, believe, and that influences their actions indefinitely. Sure, maybe we will one day change the belief to be historically accurate, but as of now and as of the past, that is not the case.” He did not respond, and all she could hear was her heartbeat and his steady breathing. It was a minute before Solas resumed tending to her hair, tilting her head forward to deal with the back.

“You were betrothed?” His voice was low, but he was clearly making an attempt on her behalf to try to understand where she was coming from. That was something at least.

“Yes.” She answered simply.

“For how long?” He asked tersely.

“Two years.”

“Two years?” He asked incredulously. She shrugged.

“Long engagements aren’t too uncommon in my clan. The actual ceremony is prefaced by gifts to the parents of the individuals involved. The thing is that those gifts have to be accepted by the parents. Since my parents had passed away years before, my older sister acted as the judging party. She refused Dhavon’s gift every time.”

“She sounds intelligent. If he would end the engagement simply because of an unfortunate event – certainly not a very good husband quality.” He commented, sounding surprisingly pleased, and she shrugged.

“Yeah, wiser older sister knew better than I did. Dhavon is a bit of an ass, hot, but an ass.” Solas tilted her head to the left to get at the right side.

“Yes, you deserve more than ass. You deserve a whole body and a mind as well.” She rolled her eyes but smiled.

“Oh? Like yourself?” She shot back, the tease was just too easy.

“Is that a proposal?” He asked in return and she smiled.

“Only in your dreams, lethallin,” the sound him cutting her hair ended, but he did not release her yet.

“Solas?” She asked, but he didn’t say anything, just continued to apparently pull on her hair.

“Patience, lethallan,” he whispered and it was only a few more seconds before he released her and handed her a small shaving mirror. She took the mirror to inspect his work and gasped. The fade was wonderful, as was the cleaned up sides, but the man had braided her hair in a way that she had never been able to do before. All of her hair was in the braid, with almost no strays. She turned around.

“Ma serannas, Solas. It’s beautiful.” He shrugged as he took the mirror back and began to repack all his shaving equipment.

“I am glad you like it, now, I need to get ready for the day-

“Oh of course, I will leave you to your meditations and cleansing,” she scrambled to get up and waddle back out of the tent. She was about to exit the tent when his voice stopped it.

“Lethallan…I am glad that your sister refused his gifts.” She turned back, their eyes meeting not so much heatedly, but in an intimate way that was so much nicer than the flirty, hot looks they would sometimes exchange. Her heart seemed to stop in that second, everything was quiet and the air was full of a certain electricity.

“Me too,” she said, then left him to get ready. She touched her braid as she walked back to her tent, smiling like a fool.

“Miriel, _what_ are you wearing?” Dorian demanded and Miriel waved him off as she made her way into her tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Din'mi: blade of death, lit. death blade  
> Alternative title: Fen'Hairdresser
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, please leave a comment and leave kudos if you are so inclined.


	9. Dareth Shiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miriel feels the effects of Redcliffe and seeks out comfort. SFW.

Miriel woke in a cold sweat, heart pounding, chest heaving as she pulled herself once more out of the red nightmare of Redcliffe. Red eyes, red growing out of the walls, it was _everywhere._ Tiny glowing crystals that burned and vibrated with corruption. Whispers vaguely echoing in the back of her skull, reverberating through her entire body, filling her up…No, not here, not real.

She lurched out of the bed, unable to stay in the sweat-soaked sheets. She quickly dressed in her warmer leggings and tunic then walked out into the night. While the Hinterlands were still experiencing residual heat waves from summer, Haven was already coated in a thin layer of snow, chilling Miriel’s still bare feet, the brisk wind blessedly shocking her system. _Not here, not real_. She kept forward though, not stopping until she reached the tavern.

Even at this late hour, it was somewhat crowded with raucous men and women. Miriel supposed that this could be due in part to the planned assault on the Breach that was happening when morning came. _Oh Creators._

Once she stepped through the door to the tavern, heads turned to her and hands raised glasses to her. She tried to give her best Herald smile and gave a slight wave before quickly maneuvering to the bar.

“Herald! Is there anything you need?” Flissa asked and Miriel nodded.

“I don’t suppose there’s an Antivan red back there?” She asked and Flissa shook her head. Miriel sighed, “then ale is fine.”

“Coming right up!” The girl then turned and began to fuss about to produce Miriel’s drink. Soon a large tankard of Fereldan ale was before her. She took a swig and tried not to grimace at the foreign flavor. She wanted something that tasted of home, something to anchor her back to reality. Her clan wandered by Antiva frequently and her fellow Hunters would occasionally lift wine from the store keepers. Her hunting partner, Dinas, was particularly deft at this and he would sneak away from camp every time they were even remotely close to Antiva. He would then gently wake her up when he got back and they would then climb a nearby tree where they would get drunk, almost falling when they climbed down from their precarious roost. Ferelden ale was nothing like Antivan wine or even the Dalish ale that she carried with her while hunting.

She pushed the mug away from her slightly and ran a hand through her hair. Nothing here was like being with the clan. No laughing children or humming elders and any mage that was here was quick to keep their talents hidden. Dorian and Solas were particularly keen on keeping their magic to themselves, being ever aware of the former Templars that roamed the village. Even Vivienne was conservative with her magic, almost never actually wielding it in the company of others in Haven. In the clan, Keeper Deshanna was almost constantly using her magic in little ways. Bend that branch down a bit to get the fruit. Entertain the little ones with little sparkling lights before they went to sleep. Engaging in magical practice with Alathar, the First, and Lynnan, the Second. Haven was…colorless to her, or at least it was painted in a color she didn’t know how to properly appreciate. Though this was most likely due to the impending doom of the Breach than being actually reflective of human culture.

_Red lyrium, growing slowly to encompass everything in its wake_ , Miriel just wanted the comfort of home. If she couldn’t get a hug from one of her sisters or clan mates, then she wanted familiar alcohol. There was none to be had.

“Hello, lethallan,” a very Dalish accented voice suddenly said. Miriel’s head turned to the sound to see a Dalish woman, slightly older than Miriel, sitting beside her. Dirthamen’s Vallaslin was etched in elegant, precise lines on her face. She was a pale woman with equally pale hair that was cut in a similar fashion to Miriel’s suggesting that she was a Hunter, except she was wearing mage robes and there was a slightly different energy around her that seemed to scream mage.

Miriel smiled, “Aneth’ara.”

“I never thought one of the Dalish would be declared to something like the Herald of Andraste,” the woman said.

Miriel snorted, “I know, right? Apparently all it takes for an elf to get recognized is an apocalypse. Lovely.” Miriel cocked her head slightly and offered her hand, “Miriel of Lavellan. Free Marches by Wycome and north to Antiva.” The woman replied in kind, moving her hand so that it grasped Miriel’s forearm.

“Dalish, I’m with the Chargers,” oh, this must be the Dalish elf Bull said he had in the group then. Wonderful!

“Lethallan, you are more than just that nickname,” Miriel encouraged. Really, it was one thing for Bull to give the woman the nickname, it was another for the woman to actively use it as her name, especially when introducing herself to another of the People.

“Ir abelas, I have grown so accustomed to the nickname that I do not even think about it anymore,” the woman said sheepishly. A bright blush colored her face, contrasting against the bright green of her Vallaslin. Miriel waved her off and found herself smiling.

“That’s alright, what name did you parents grace you with?”

“Saena…and I no longer have a clan.” She explained nervously.

“What happened?” Miriel asked.

“I was the first and there was already a second when another mage was discovered in the clan. Instead of sending the child away, I left, making room for him,” she answered.

Miriel’s eyes widened, “That was very selfless of you.”

“I suppose. It turned out for the best, and I never did like the idea of sending children out of the clan, unprepared, not fully understanding where they come from.”

“I agree. The practice is…unsettling. You know Minaeve? She is one of ours, but was turned to the shemlen at the age of seven. _Seven_.”

“How are our people going to recover any of our glory if we send all of our young away? Our magical children, no less, they who are closest to the Elvhen.” Saena lamented. Miriel shook her head.

“We allow them to be locked in Circles, how many of them have been made Tranquil? How many executed because they did not conform to the shemlen ways?” Miriel asked, staring sadly into her mug. Saena shook her head.

“It is why I left. I wish more clans realized this solution.”

“As do I. Tell me Saena, why didn’t you find another clan to join? Surely there are clans in Orlais that are in need of a first or second.”

“I did, but the Iron Bull found me first. I helped him deal with some rabble by a town, bandits of course, and he offered me a position in the crew. I took it, figured it would be a new experience and a chance to show the world the Dalish aren’t scary elves in the forest…it sounds silly and idealistic now that I say it aloud.” Saena admitted bashfully and Miriel laughed.

“No! Don’t apologize for that, part of the reason I stayed was to show people that the Dalish are just people as well. And hey, if you make coin and friends along the way, the better,” Miriel smiled and Saena lifted her mug.

“To coin and friends!” She said and Miriel raised hers as well.

“And to beautiful elven men!” She proclaimed happily.

“And women!” Saena added. The clanked their mugs together and drank.

“You think that’s why you go by Dalish and not Saena?” Miriel asked after the toast.

Saena’s brow furrowed and she cocked her head to the side, “What do you mean?”

“’Dalish’ reminds you of _what_ you are, while _who_ you are doesn’t need to be addressed. It allows distance between the girl with a clan and the woman in a mercenary company.” Saena’s eyes went wide and she stammered for a moment before giving a short laugh.

“I suppose so.”

“UGH! Are you two tits done being elfy? Or are you going to piss and wine all over your piss and ale?” Sera was suddenly besides Saena holding a large pitcher of ale. Miriel smiled and shook her head. Ah Sera.

“What? I can’t piss elfiness?” Miriel said and Sera laughed.

“Oh! Yeah! I bet Elven Glory totally pisses elfiness. Maybe he spells it out!” Sera sniggered and Miriel shook her head, but smiled nonetheless.

“That’s an awful lot of piss.”

“I know! ‘S gross, is what it is.”

“Hey Herald, see you’ve met Dalish,” Krem joined them at the table and quickly ordered another round of ales for the Chargers that looked like they were gearing up to sing.

“You know us Dalish elves, we’re drawn to elfiness like a bee is to flowers.”

“It’s good that the company mage gets to have another like her, and speak that weird-ass language of yours.”

“I am not a mage!” Saena protested loudly.

Krem raised his eyebrows and let out an exasperated sigh, “You carry a staff.”

“It’s a _bow._ ” Saena said dramatically. Krem rolled his eyes.

“A bow with a magical glowing crystal at the top?” He replied dryly.

“It’s an aiming crystal. Old elven trick you wouldn’t understand.” Saena explained and Miriel gasped melodramatically. She touched her chest, her eyes went wide and everything.

“You have an aiming crystal? Get out! I have been searching everywhere for one after mine was lost before the Conclave!” Miriel exclaimed, backing Saena up. Krem shook his head but there was a small smile on his face as he grabbed the ales provided by Flissa. He was then off, returning to the rest of the Chargers to fierce cries of triumph.

“Hey Sera, maybe we should get you a crystal. Make you all nice and elfy proper,” Miriel teased.

“UGH! You tit!” Sera scoffed affectionately. Miriel and Saena laughed heartily before the Chargers began to sing. Saena’s voice joined them, lifting her mug high into the air.

**

Dawn was only a few hours away and Miriel and Saena were still awake. They were in much higher spirits than when they had entered the tavern, laughing happily as they sang to Elgar’nan, the All Father. It was equal parts nostalgia for their clans and prayer that they could rectify the Breach by the day’s end.

“Oh shit, how’d the rest go?” Miriel asked as she laughed and Saena shook her head.

“I can’t remember! Creators forgive me but I have been away from the clans for too long!” Saena bemoaned.

“Careful, falon, your ears will shrink!” Miriel giggled.

“Oh shut it! You have ears big enough to sail an Aravel!”

“Bitch!” Miriel’s laugh echoed loudly in the night to the point where she almost didn’t hear the telltale creek of a door open by the Apothecary. She turned to Saena who was currently smiling wildly as she watched the rest of the Chargers shuffle off to their tents.

“Saena, I have to go do something, I will see you…sometime?” Miriel suggested and Saena waved her off.

“Yes, go see the Fade expert! Nice choice in ears, by the way,” she teased.

“Oh you’re awful,” Miriel laughed, disentangling herself from Saena.

“You like it that way,” and with that Saena left, wobbling slightly from the alcohol she had imbibed. Continuing to smile, Miriel turned and walked up the steps to the small courtyard surrounded by three small wooden houses. Solas leaned against his cabin, arms cross over his somewhat sleep rumpled shirt.

“You are quite loud, lethallan,” he said, sleep still clinging to his voice. Miriel shrugged as she joined him against the wall.

“Ir abelas, lethallin, I did not wish to disturb you,” she apologized.

“Thank you. Though your laughter is much preferable to having drunken soldiers accidently clam against my door in the middle of the night.” Sleep gave his voice a soft gravelly quality that sent a shiver down her spine, and his words made her cheeks heat.

“Thank you.” She replied. Solas’s brow furrowed in some confusion.

“If you do not mind my asking, what woke you? I saw you retire to your cabin.” He asked. She let out a long breath as she turned toward her cabin, eyes suddenly serious.

“Nightmare…Redcliffe was…” _Red stained the walls, the people. Everything was red and growing. Death was steeped into the very rocks and above it all was the churning mass of the Breach, but it was no longer simply the Breach – it was the sky, raining more death and destruction upon the masses._ “It was difficult.” She surmised lamely, unable to fully verbalize the exact horror she had seen.

“It must have horrifying to see such a future,” she nodded to his response, her arms slowly wrapping around herself, either in an attempt to self-soothe or warm herself from the cold. Probably both. “Are you certain you experienced time travel? Could it have been an illusion, or a trick of the Fade?”

“I…I don’t think so. I am no mage, this is true, but Dorian was certain and it was just…it was so unbelievable that it was almost certainly real. If that makes any sense.” She explained lamely.

“It does, unfortunately.” He paused briefly before shaking his head, a small smile spreading across his face, “What an amazing gift. It is vital that the Inquisition succeed, to avoid the future that you witnessed.”

She turned toward him then, brows drawn together in frightened confusion, “A gift? Solas, it was horrible. There was so much death and destruction and corruption. People were dying, _you_ died, covered and infected with red lyrium. Your voice was hollow and your eyes glowed red. I could see it growing under your skin on the palms of your hands, on the tips of your ears. Cassandra vomited blood infused with red lyrium three times. Leliana had been…experimented on, her flesh repeatedly cut from her to slow the spread of the Blight in Felix. You all died. I watched you die. That is not a gift, to see such horrors happen to people you care for.” The panic from the dream began to creep up into her body, twisting itself in her bones and heart. Her airway was beginning to feel tight, her skin too sensitive – Solas took hold of her hands as nearby braziers lit up. Miriel opened her eyes, not even realizing she had closed them. Soft blue-grey eyes met hers as kind hands held hers, gently rubbing small circles into her clammy skin.

“The gift lies in that you have the ability to prevent such a future. Your actions can be more informed and you can now act more effectively against our foes.” His voice remained calm and steady and as he maintained eye contact, she began to feel her heart slow and her breathing begin to return to normal. She looked down at his hands, comforted to see them without the red lyrium glowing menacingly beneath the skin. Her fingers rubbed against his hands, needing to feel that they were indeed normal hands, free of the lyrium. They were surprisingly strong hands with calluses from his staff and certainly larger than her own. But they were also nice, warm hands that held hers protectively.

Miriel took a few deep breaths then shook her head, almost smiling, “You know, most people have a hard enough time wrapping their heads around the idea.” Solas smiled, his eyes glittering in the firelight.

“I’m not most people.” He answered simply.

“I appreciate you talking with me about it. And…not being most people.” Her flirtatious blush had returned, along with a small sincere smile. The brief moment of panic was in retreat as Solas took up the space in her mind.

“If you wish to speak of Orlesian fashion, I may be at a loss. Magical surprises I can handle. Speaking of which, you should ready yourself.” His tone suddenly became ominous and Miriel’s brow furrowed in worry. His hands slipped from hers and she found herself mourning the loss.

“For?”

“This Elder One. You have now intervened with his plans twice. Once at the Temple of Sacred Ashes…and now again at Redcliffe. A being who aspires to godhood is unlikely to ignore such an affront.”

“This has gotten much bigger than I had originally thought,” Miriel lamented, turning from Solas to look up at the Breach. “I thought that after I closed the Breach, I could return home to my clan. But I suppose not.”

“Why not? You have no personal responsibility outside of closing the Breach, you could allow Cassandra or another to dispatch of the Elder One.” He suggested and she leaned back somewhat in surprise.

“Right, just leave the big bad scary evil person responsible for all of this to someone else? When I have the ability and presence to do it myself? I had hoped you thought higher of me than that, Solas.”

“I do. But thinking highly of you does not change what you could do, only what I believe you will do.”

“And what do you believe I will do?” She asked and he smiled toothlessly, turning his face to the Breach.

“I believe you will do all that you can to help.”

“That is a very accurate assessment. And I am glad that you think that of me.” She replied, inching closer to him. She told herself it was because he was taller and shielded her well from the wind and had nothing to do with how his hands had felt or what his voice sounded like or how soft his lips looked.

“It is not difficult to do so. You have proven to be a woman of many virtues.”

“I am hardly virtuous, Solas.” She teased and he quirked a brow at her, clearly trying to frown but failing somehow.

“Ah forgive me, I forgot to say an infuriating woman of many virtues.” He jabbed and she pressed a hand to her chest in mock insult.

“Oh you like me! Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody. And just so you know, I like you too.” She bumped her shoulder against his, smiling happily up at him. He looked down at her, his face full of an emotion she couldn’t quite place, but it made her heart happy and hurt at the same time.

“Would you two just get a room already!” Dorian suddenly shouted from his cabin. Miriel’s eyes went wide and she blushed even more furiously. Solas coughed and took a step away from her, his eyes no longer meeting hers.

“Perhaps we could have our private conversations during the day for once and not in the middle of the night.” Solas suggested.

“We do this rather frequently, don’t we?” She giggled.

“Yes. At some point I would like to actually see you blush in full light,” Sleep gave his voice a soft gravelly quality that sent a shiver down her spine, and his words made her cheeks heat.

“You…you take entirely too much pleasure in making me blush, lethallin.”

“It is an endearing sight,” he said, a hand suddenly coming up to gently touch her heated cheek. Her eyes darted up to his as her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were bright, even in the dark, and he bore a slight smile that made her stomach flip. Her gaze was inexplicably drawn to his full lips and she wondered what they would feel like, what they would taste like.

“Solas?” her voice was barely whisper as she began to lean forward.

“Miriel,” he whispered back and it was like lightning ran through her. He had never said her name before, and Creators did he say it well. It sounded right, sensual, kind, loving – all those little adjectives that sent her heart into a happy little frenzy. He swayed forward with hooded eyes and parted lips. Her heart lodged itself in her throat as she began to raise herself on the tips of her toes.

Solas’s hand dropped and he took a step back suddenly, pointedly looking away from her.

“I…I should let you rest. The assault will be arduous and you should rest.” Ah, yes. Business. Miriel’s ears drooped in disappointment as she lowered herself back to the ground.

“Oh, I suppose so.” She shuffled her feet but did not make an effort to go. She then looked up at him when she came to a sudden realization.

“You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” She whispered.

He paused briefly before answering, “If everything goes according to plan, then yes. I will be making my departure from the Inquisition,” she felt her ears droop. She was loathe to see him go, but if that was his wish…she would not stop him.

“I understand,” she whispered and before he could respond, she was next to him and kissing him softly on the cheek. His skin was smooth and soft despite his supposed older age and it just made her that much more curious about his lips. “Ma serannas, lethallin. For all of your help.” She whispered as she came down from her standing on the tips of her toes.

“Good night, Solas,” she said as she began to walk away, disappearing into the night.

“Dareth shiral,” Solas replied absently as his fingers gently touched the cheek she had kissed. Heat spread through his cheeks and he realized that she had made him blush. He blinked in shock as his chest actually…ached at the thought of leaving. He shook his head, trying to dislodge these thoughts. He had responsibilities and one Dalish girl, no matter how compelling or beautiful or curious or deceptively intelligent, could not change that.

Solas stepped back into his temporary cabin. Yes, temporary, it was all temporary. While he was tired from being roused so abruptly from his sleep, he remained awake, staring out the window facing her cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this week, updates should be back on schedule and happening on Fridays. Back to a normal schedule! Yaaay!
> 
> And for fun, Miriel's height is 5 feet and 2 inches (1.57 meters) and Solas's canon height is 6 feet (1.82 meters). 
> 
> I also want to thank all of you for reading, commenting, leaving kudos - you are the best and make my day. Thank you so, so very much. <3


	10. Savior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the destruction of Haven, Miriel is stranded in a blizzard unsure of survival when an unlikely ally appears to help her. SFW

The entire mountain had vibrated with energy when she had triggered the avalanche. Almost everyone had made it into the Frostbacks away from the blast radius by that time, but snow still fell, shifting beneath their feet as they trudged through the mountains in an attempt to escape Corypheus. The fire on the torches crackled and frizzled while people cried, moaning from serious injuries. Metal clanged against each other as soldiers ran near constant patrols to ensure safety. They currently entrenched in a small mountain valley, tents propped up close together in conical patterns centered around bonfires.

People were dying of serious injuries, children screaming, Cullen shouting and giving orders, there was an army of red lyrium altered Templars chasing them - and all Solas could think about was her. She had stayed to buy them time. It was brave, heroic, an action that would undoubtedly inspire epic ballads and tales for the ages to come, and colossally foolish. She had risked her exceptionally precious life, she could be dead right that second because of this decision. A sharp pang lanced through his heart and realized how distraught he was at the thought of her dying. He kept picturing the light leaving her eyes, her last breath escaping her with a soft sigh, lips turning blue as she sunk into the cold earth. He kept seeing her fall and him not being there to catch her. _He should have stayed with her._ Damn if she found out about his true nature, she needed to be alive, she needed to breathe and exist in this world that he didn’t even know if was worth saving anymore. She _had_ to be.

He had grown accustomed to their talks, her endless questions about everything. Her curiosity was both refreshing and endearing, something he wanted to see more of. He hadn’t shown her all the corners of the Fade that he believed she would love. He didn’t teach her proper elven. She didn’t know how important she was to everything, to…him.

He tried to justify the worry by reminding himself that she still possessed the Mark, and that perhaps with her cooperation…but no, he was only fooling himself if he thought that he was only interested in preserving his Mark. He wanted more than that. He wanted to…that is, he…he didn’t know what he wanted these days.

His worry was turning into panic and that panic spurred him into action. He drifted purposefully away from the main group of people camped in the small valley to find a secluded area to conduct his work. He let himself drop into the snow, not even feeling the icy cold biting into his feet and legs. Taking a deep breath, let himself drift into the Fade. He felt outward, casting a net, searching for the Mark, trying to track its movement. If it was moving it meant…it meant she was alive. He pushed his magic out, willing to sense the Mark, sense _her._ He pushed farther and farther out, _how can she be this far from us?_ He pushed harder.

_There!_ It was moving _there_ , not far from where Haven once stood, and it wasn’t moving fast, but it was moving. Like a high note in the background of a symphony, the Mark vibrated and sang _she is alive._ Unbidden relief coursed through Solas before he quickly centered himself once more. He needed the Mark to help her, he knew it could, he just needed to push himself to bend the once familiar magic to his whim once more.

Solas reached out at the fine fibers of the Mark’s old magic, he grasped at them and ordered them to wrap around her, warm her and carry her through this storm. The magic did as it was told…partially. Power poured into her, invigorating her. She was able to summon its power and channel it in a defensive manor, but it didn’t do enough. It didn’t warm her or form any sort of barrier, all it did was give her a defense mechanism. It wasn’t enough.

Realizing that she would never survive unless she had some other source of warmth bulwarking her against the freezing mountain wind and snow, Solas turned his attention elsewhere. He tried searching for spirits of warmth and comfort, but there none to be found. He tried shrouding her in a barrier of warmth and while that worked temporarily, it was too energy consuming and he would not be able to sustain it for long. There was one last option, one that he had hoped he would not have to use. It was one of the spells that had given him his title, spells he had hoped to never have to cast again. But sitting in the snow, and with the possibility of her death looming eminently, he cast the spell, reaching out to find a wolf.

**

The cave Miriel had landed in was frozen over but open. It was a miracle that most of the snow from the avalanche hadn’t chased her into these tunnels, fenedhis, it was a miracle that she could stand after being bodily tossed and grappled by that…thing. Corypheus was the thing out of nightmares, and his monster dragon was something even worse. Its shrieks and roars still echoed in her throbbing ears. Corypheus’s sneer was there every time she closed her eyes. _Fear._ She was operating on pure instinct now, moving her broken body through the cavern.

Her chest ached and she was positive that she had at least two, maybe three, cracked ribs, and the rest of them bruised. There was a large abrasion on the back of her skull, and she may even be concussed. Her tailbone was surely bruised and her right ankle was swollen from being twisted as she landed poorly onto the icy cavern floor. But she could move, she could still walk, even if it was a bit staggered. She stumbled through the cave, clutching at the bear fur of her coat. She brought the coat closer to her body and tied it so that it compressed her chest to support the cracks in her ribs. 

She stumbled forward until she heard skittering and low crying. Despair Demon. _Fucking shit, this is just what I need._ She didn’t have her bow, she didn’t have that sword anymore, all she had were three daggers of varying lengths and sharpness. Her longest and deadliest dagger was located on her outer right thigh, but her throwing dagger was located on her inner left calf. And then her close quarters, last resort, tiny, serrated dagger was on her left forearm. She sighed, while Tiny was easily accessible, she needed to lean down to get Throw and Deadly to be able to properly defend herself.

“ _Ow!”_ she hissed as she bent and unsheathed the daggers. Her left hand gripped Throw while her right carried Deadly. She then lurched forward down the tunnel, hopefully prepared enough to kill this stupid demon. The Mark, or rather, Anchor, flared up and she resisted groaning. She could barely walk straight, how was she supposed to fight the demon and close the Rif that was most likely going to produce more demons? _The only way through this is forward._ Gritting her teeth, Miriel staggered forward, determined to make it to safety.

She turned around another corner and there it was, eerie green light pulsating from a tear in the Veil. The Despair Demon turned toward her, sensing her like all the damn demons did, _fucking Anchor._ The Demon let out a screech as it launched itself toward her. It fell to the floor in shock and pain as her thrown dagger landed in the middle of its hooded face. She stepped forward with Deadly with the intent of quickly disposing of the demon when the Anchor flared to life. Her hand burned with power, glowing brightly as it flared to life in her hand unbidden.

A single word echoed in her skull: _Protect._ It was her only warning before the Anchor pulsed with such intensity her hand was raised into the air. Light seeped from her hand as the world in the cave appeared to waver and pitch before a large Rift suddenly sputtered into life. It vibrated rapidly as it actually dragged the previous Rift and all of its demons into its vortex. Pain lanced briefly through her arm as the Rift rolled keened until it collapsed into itself, disappearing.  

Miriel breathed heavily in the now quiet, dark cave, _what just happened?_ She looked down at the Anchor, its light having died down and now only faintly pulsating in her hand. She was no mage and she was unskilled with all things magical, but the Anchor seemed to… _want_ to help her. She didn’t understand it, but she wasn’t going to question it. Everything seemed to be crazy right now, it was nice to feel that one of the crazy things wanted to help her instead of kill her.

But with the absence of the light also came the absence of any warmth. She shivered but continued her sojourn, every stop and slow down meant that she was falling farther behind the group and her actual chance of living through this.

She walked as quickly as she could, but the longer she walked the more her body protested. The cave ended and she was briefly grateful before she saw the outside. It was a blizzard, and snow was already piled high. It was dark as far as the eye could see and there were no signs of the refugees of Haven. She fought the hopelessness burgeoning inside of her and decided that if she was going to die, it was not going to be without a fight.

She stepped into the snow and hissed at the contact. In five minutes, her feet were numb from the cold and she could press even quicker through the snow. Her muscles began to ache ten minutes in but she was not giving up, she would _never_ give up. She felt the Anchor twitch in her hand and some warmth seemed to hold her, but it was fleeting and soon she was freezing once more.

Cold. Freezing. Icy. Terrifying. _Move._ It was all she could think about as she trudged through the snow. It clung to her, freezing her to the bone. She couldn’t feel her toes, her fingers, the tips of her ears. She was dying, she could feel it, and with every step it got harder to not just lie down on the ground and let the cold take her away…

An eerie howl tore through the night. A sharp, warm contrast to the bitter cold that ate at her. It snapped her out of her reverie and spurred her to keep moving forward. Another howl sounded, and then another. _An entire pack is out here_ , she thought. _No, not him, not him, not him,_ she chanted in her head. An echoing low laugh echoed in her a head, a laugh that was decidedly not her own.

_Why not me?_ A distant voice whispered in her head. The wolves then burst from the woods. She screamed and began running. She no longer felt the cold as blood rushed through her. She tried to go fast but the snow sucked her feet in, and beneath the snow was a treacherous landscape including branches that trip those who were not careful. With a cry, Miriel fell into the snow, tears streaming down her face from the stress. First Corypheus and now the Dread Wolf, come to take her for whatever reason. She was having the world’s shittiest day. The Dread Wolf laughed again.

_It is good that you can still find humor, even in dire situations._

_Surely you’re not stealing me away for your lack of a court jester._

_I suspect your talents would be wasted in such a position._ The wolves circled her, and she tried to frighten them off, growling, shaking her fist, shouting at them, but they stayed. The biggest of the pack strode forward, she flinched away, waiting for the killing blow.

_Oh vhenan, I would never kill you._ Before she could even process those words, the wolf was nudging her face, licking her. It gave a plaintive whine, and licked her face again when she didn’t move.

_Please, da’len, let me help you._

_I am not a child!_

_Then stop acting like one and let me help you!_ She gave a frustrated yell, but reached up and grabbed hold of the wolf. It yelped in pain as she yanked its fur and pulled herself up, but then she felt the warmth of the fur hit her. She buried her face into the wolf, brought her arms in and huddled against the animal. Another wolf came up behind her, adding more warmth. Then another wolf came, and then another. Soon, she felt warm enough to continue her journey.

The wolves helped guide her toward the camp and soon she saw the campfires within the valley.

_I have to go now, will you be able to make it there on your own?_

_I think so, yes, and Dread Wolf?_

_Hmm?_

_…Ma serannas._ She sensed a lonesome smile before a single word resounded through her mind.

_Forget._

**

Solas’s eyes snapped open, he thanked the wolf before he stood and weakly walked to the main camp.

“Commander! Look…to the north of the valley.” Solas could barely hold himself up after expending all that energy. _Still not strong enough….too much energy…worth it._

There was suddenly a loud commotion, Cullen was shouting but was out of sight at the mouth of the valley. There was a moment in time when everything went quiet, a brief pause where everything was held in limbo. A collective breath was held in the valley as they waited to see…and there was the Commander, carrying a sagging and exhausted and an _alive_ Miriel of clan Lavellan, Herald of Andraste. The valley released their breath, some fell to their knees in prayers of thanks, some cried. Solas closed his eyes, counted to five, and strode toward where the Commander laid her down.

The healers began to fuss almost immediately over her, and they efficiently shooed the Commander, Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra away. They didn’t seem bothered by the elven apostate who hovered a respectful distance away, however. Solas never took his eyes off of her.

Hours passed before the healers left, and by that time she had fallen asleep, but Solas walked to her bedside and sat. He was exhausted, but he would watch her, he would care for her. He took her marked hand into his, urging the magic to try and heal her as much as it could. It was less of a command and more of a weak request, but the magic seemed to respond, and soon her color began to return. Relieved that he could help, he let himself relax in his makeshift chair. Slowly he drifted off to sleep still holding her hand.

**

Miriel woke slowly. There was…a fire burning nearby, it cackled softly like the soft whispers around her. She was wrapped in a thick coat or blanket that smelled of sheep and humans. Everything was…warm, which was surprising but she couldn’t quite think of why. Her nose felt tingly and her left hand was very warm. After a moment she realized that her hand was being held by a warm and smooth hand with long fingers and a narrow, calloused palm. She opened her eyes languidly and smiled at the sight of a hunched over Solas.

“Solas?” Her voice was hoarse and barely audible but apparently it was enough to wake Solas up. His woke with a small snort, shook his head, and then looked at her.

“Lethallan, you’re awake.” She smiled at him but then gained more awareness of her body.

“My feet, Solas, I can’t – there’s something wrong with my feet.” He nodded and sat up, moving to the end of her bed. He lifted up the blankets wrapped around her to inspect her feet…which were wrapped in cloth that was probably soaked with elfroot and spindleweed extract, maybe some embrium and blood lotus extract as well.

“Your feet are wrapped in a healing solution, and that may be causing some numbness to counteract any pain.” He explained, quickly returning to her side and taking her hand once more. She could not tell if it was to comfort her or him.

“Oh, okay…Solas?” Her voice was hoarse and her throat felt raw.

“Yes?” His thumb was rubbing small circles into her hand and she found that she much rather focus on that sensation than the odd foot numbness or achy pain in her throat.

“Did all that really happen? Did…did an ancient Tevinter magister and his pet Archdemon actually just destroy Haven and I…I caused an avalanche…and survived that avalanche? Did…did that actually happen?” Solas smiled softly and carefully placed his free hand on her head, stroking her hair. She leaned into his touch.

“It would appear so.” She gave a dopey smile before closing her eyes.

“That’s amazing…and fucked up.”

He laughed softly, “Yes it is.” She opened her eyes and turned her face back to his, her gold eyes bright even in the low light.

“You didn’t leave,” she whispered, referring to his words the previous night. He shook his head gently.

“Closing the Breach did not go according to plan,” he explained and she gave a small smile.

“The only good thing to come out of that, then,” she murmured she drifted back off to sleep. With reassurance that she was going to be fine, all of Solas’s energy disappeared. He didn’t need to continue to work to keep her alive or worry that he would have to work to keep her alive if her condition suddenly declined. She was going to live. He sagged into the nearby chair, overwhelmed with relief and exhaustion. He fought the exhaustion, determined to watch her, to make sure, even _more_ sure than he already was that she would be fine. But after closing the Breach, fighting the Red Templars, Corypheus, summoning the wolves, and thinking Miriel would die, Solas was too drained to keep his eyes open much longer, and soon he was sound asleep.

**

Miriel awoke to the distant sound of people bickering. The sound got louder as she roused from sleep once more. Feeling was returning to her feet, but it still wasn’t comfortable. At some point she had been bundled in a coat and thick Fereldan boots. She was warm, but annoyed. Almost dying kind of did that to a person.

Miriel propped herself up on her elbows and looked around. People were bundled as closely together as possible, huddled near fires. The tents were in a circular pattern around the main bonfire, where most people had congregated. Expressions of hopelessness and doubt abounded, and in the middle of it all were Cullen, Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra. They were naturally the ones bickering about what to do next. Miriel wanted to join them, but her muscles were still stiff, her body unwilling to fully cooperate with her.

“Shh, you need rest,” a voice to left said. Miriel turned to see Mother Giselle waiting by her bedside where Solas had been previously.

“They’ve been at it for hours,” Miriel said, her voice tired and hoarse.

“They have that luxury thanks to you. The enemy could not follow, and with time to doubt, we turn to blame. Infighting may threaten as much as this Corypheus.”

“Do we know where Corypheus and his forces are?”

“We are not sure where _we_ are, which may be why, despite the numbers he still commands, there still is no sign of him. That or you are believed dead. Without Haven, we are thought helpless, or he girds for another attack. I cannot claim to know the mind of that creature, only his effect on us.”

“If they’re arguing about what we do next, I need to be there.” Once more Miriel tried to sit up, only to have Mother Giselle place a hand on her shoulder and gently guide her back down to the cot.

“Another heated voice won’t help, even yours, perhaps especially yours. Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defenders stand and fall, and now we have seen her return. The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our trials seem ordained. That is hard to accept, though. What we have been called to endure, what we perhaps must come to believe.”

“I escaped the avalanche, barely, perhaps, but I didn’t die.” Somehow. She wasn’t even completely certain on how she _didn’t_ succumb to the cold and the snow.

“Of course. And the dead cannot return from across the Veil. But the people know what they saw, or perhaps what they needed to see. The Maker works both in the moment and in how it is remembered. Can we truly know the heavens are not with us?”

“You saw Corypheus, what do you think of his claims of assaulting the heavens?”

“Scripture says Magisters, Tevinter servants of false old Gods, entered the Fade to reach the Golden city, seat of the Maker. For their crime, they were cast out as Darkspawn. Their hubris is why we suffer Blights, and why the Maker turned from us. If such is the claim of this Corypheus, he is a monster beyond imagining. All mankind continues to suffer for that sin. Even if a shred of it is true, all the more reason Andraste would choose someone to rise against him.”

“Corypheus said he only found corruption and emptiness, nothing golden.” Miriel countered, hearing the Magister’s voice echo in her head. _Like a bad dream that just won’t leave._

“If he entered that place, it has changed him without and within. The living are not meant to make that journey. Perhaps these are lies he must tell himself, rather than accept that he earned the scorn of the Maker. I know I could not bear such.”

“Mother Giselle, I just don’t see how what I believe matters. Lies or not, Corypheus is a real, physical threat. We can’t match that with hope alone.” Forcing her muscles to move according to her whim, Miriel finally stood up and hobbled slowly to the end of the tent. She didn’t want to talk about Corypheus, about the Maker, about any of it. She wanted, needed, to create an actual plan to get these people to safety before their food ran out and they all either starve or freeze to death. It was then, when she felt all hope had receded from where they were, when the singing began.

“Shadows fall, and hope has fled.

“Steel your heart, the dawn will come.

“The night is long, and path is dark.

“Look to the sky, for one day soon

“The dawn will come.” Mother Giselle began. Miriel was unfamiliar with the song, but she felt all of those who followed the human Maker turn their heads to the Mother. Uneasiness rolled through her but she did nothing as the human woman continued.

“The shepherd’s lost, and his home is far,” Leliana then began to sing with the Mother, her voice clear and resonant in the quiet stillness of the night.

“Keep to the stars, the dawn will come,” with Leliana’s voice joining in, a dam seemed to burst in the ranks of the Inquisition. Soon soldiers, cooks, everyone who knew the song, no matter their skill, was singing. While the song told them to look to the stars, they were very clearly looking at Miriel.

“The night is long, and the path is dark

“Look to the sky, for one day soon,

“The dawn will come.” They began to kneel in front of her, huddling around her concentrically as if she were the fire offering warmth. Her heart began to hammer in her chest as they all gazed at her as if she were who they sang to, to whom they prayed. _Oh Creators._

“Bare your blade, and raise it high

“Stand your ground, the dawn will come.

“The night is long, and the path is dark,

“Look to the sky, for one day soon,

“The dawn will come.” The song then repeated as more and more people woke to sing. Even children were singing and gathering around her, kneeling and praising her. She saw people crying, but smiling in prayer song…to her. They were praying to, praising her, singing her name and lauding her deeds to the Heavens. It was so much, too much. She began to cry, tears silently slipping down her cheeks. She did not pray to their Maker, she did not worship Andraste, but now she saw that these people believed _in her_. She had a duty to them now, and maybe she had this entire time.

Miriel backed up from the people, leaning heavily on a wooden pole. Her heart beat erratically, eyes wide as the weight of responsibility came crashing down on her. She was responsible for these people, she had to see that they survived this. _Creators, I never wanted this._ But what she had wanted was irrelevant now. What mattered now was her duty and she would not shy from it.

“An army needs more than an enemy, it needs a cause.” Mother Giselle said before resuming singing.

**

Solas had wandered from Miriel’s bedside after Mother Giselle decided to take up residence next to her as well and wanted to discuss scripture with him. Normally, Solas would not have minded the potential debate and discussion of religion, but now was not the time. He was still drained from the immense power he had exerted in bringing Miriel back, and had little patience for the ignorant speculations of a woman trying to force her religion on Miriel.

He was on the outskirts of camp when the signing began. He heard the Mother after speaking with a rightfully disheartened Miriel. He had expected the Mother to use her religion to try an inspire Miriel into action, but he had not expected was the reaction of the people around him. Suddenly the valley was full of singing voices, all praising _her._ She stood in the center of a throng of people, crying as she seemed to stretch her arms out as if touch her people. They sang her name to the Heavens, a great cry of hope and worship that he had not heard since…since Arlathan after Mythal had returned from a successful campaign against a marauding group of mercenaries who had slaughtered many. The voices of these people were not nearly skilled or as beautiful as the trained chorus of a thousand monks, but they were just as impassioned and indicative of the caliber of Miriel’s spirit.

Miriel’s cheeks were glistening from her tears, her face full of empathetic and overcome emotion. She could barely stand straight from the muscle fatigue, but she stood and she thanked the people for singing for her. Mythal had not thanked the monks for it had become customary for them to sing of her accomplishments. Miriel was about to fall to her knees in thanking these people, the weight of responsibility pressing her to the ground. Those closest to her simply picked her up and let her lean on them as they walked her back to her cot. She continued to sob as she hugged and thanked them.

It was an hour before the singing died down. Miriel was still awake, her face red from crying. He strode to her quietly, needing to talk to her about their next steps. She had stopped crying but her eyes were still swollen and glassy.

“Lethallan?” He asked as he approached her, keeping his tone soft. She jerked around, wiping her face as if to dispel all traces of her tears.

“Solas, I, um, thank you for helping heal me and…everything else you’ve done,” her shaking shoulders were the first to alert him that she was breaking down again, soon her breathing was hitching, and once more her eyes were misting over with tears. She looked away from him.

“I know much has happened, but I need to speak to you.” He knew she needed time, but they did not have that luxury. She calmed herself with a few deep breaths then met his eyes again.

Miriel took a deep breath, “You know something.” He nodded.

“Yes. We should discuss this somewhere more…private.” She nodded in agreement and stood up from her cot. They then made their way to a secluded area not too far away from the main camp. He lent her his staff so that she may lean on it for support as she walked. He casually lit a brazier for warmth and she huddled by it, her body probably still cold from the avalanche. Solas resisted casting a more suitable warmth spell for her, attempting to keep himself focused on the task at hand.

“The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting. Their faith is hard won, lethallan, worthy of pride, save one detail. The threat Corypheus wields. The orb Corypheus carried, it is ours. Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach, unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived, and we must prepare for their reaction when they learn the orb is of our people.” He stood straight, arms behind his back in an attempt to not appear as exhausted as he truly was. Miriel closed her eyes and sighed.

“Alright, what is it, and how do you know about it?” She made no attempt to disguise her exhaustion.

“Such things were foci, said to channel power from our gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon. All that remains are references in ruins, faint memories in the Fade, echoes of a dead empire. But however Corypheus came to it, the orb is elven, and with it, threatens the heart of human faith.”

“Even if we find a way to defeat Corypheus, they will find a way to blame elves.” She murmured, eyes dark with comprehension.

“I suspect you are correct. It is unfortunate, but we must be above suspicion to be seen as valued allies, faith in you is shaping this moment, but it needs room to grow.” She had proven herself worthy of the place he had used to grow his own forces over a millennia ago. Void take him, he was old.

“What do you have in mind?” She asked and he smiled.

“Tomorrow we will set out in search of that place, but now, you must rest, for the journey will be long.” She nodded and they both returned to the camp.

The next morning, Miriel was bright eyed and strong, looking like the savior these people needed. Gone were the tears of the night, and now she was bright and glowing and absolutely beautiful. She strode to the front of the group and began to speak.

“Today, we set out to find the Inquisition a new home. Today, we begin our journey to avenge the Divine. Today, we set out to become the beacon in the darkness!” Her words were met with loud cheers and Solas wondered if they would sing all the way to their destination.

As they set out into the mountains, Solas joined Miriel at the forefront.

“So where are we heading?” She asked as she trudged painstakingly through the snow. He handed her his staff once more. He looked forward and began to walk.

“By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it, changed you. Scout to the north, be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build, grow.”

“Wonderful, where is it? What is it?” _Always the pragmatist,_ Solas smiled back at her, not worried by her questions.

“You will see.” He said simply and she rolled her eyes at him.

“So we’re being overdramatic and vague today, got it.” But she followed him and the Inquisition followed her. The pace through the Frostbacks was exhaustingly quick. Solas was eager to get them to their destination, to safety. _They said look to the sky, after all,_ he thought slyly.

The journey to their destination required another day of the quick paced marching, but then, in the early afternoon, they came upon it.

He climbed up the rocks with Miriel in tow. Her injuries still plagued her, but she hid her pain well.

“It is not much farther,” he told her but she didn’t seem convinced…that is until she reached the top of the rock outcropping. Her jaw dropped open as she spied the large fortress that was less than thirty minutes away.

“Skyhold,” he said simply as she began to walk the path to the abandoned keep. He watched her as she went, emotions conflicting within him. No, it was time this place be reclaimed, and it would be _her_ keep, the place where the world would wait with bated breath to see what she would do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay normal update time! Thank you for reading and I hope you have a lovely holiday season. Please comment and/or leave kudos if you are so inclined and have a wonderful day. :)


	11. She is Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miriel is given a new title and finds her aloof apostate in a strange place. NSFW.

There were a thousand and one things to do and only so many minutes to do them. Skyhold’s sheer size made it more than capable of housing all of the refugees from Haven, that wasn’t a problem. The problems were figuring out where everyone would go and making sure that the fortress was indeed secure from Corypheus and his Red Templars. Soldiers had to be organized into patrols, then put in barracks when not on patrol. Refugees had to be herded into proper places to set up tents and beds. Patrols had to be sent back into the Frostbacks to look for any straggling refugees. Injuries had to be triaged and treated properly and quickly. Healers needed to be put on a rotation. Ravens had to be sent to the Inquisition’s allies alerting them to the new change in location and of course about the eminent threat that was Corypheus.

Skyhold itself needed to be repaired, so repairmen had to be brought in. Contracts for hire had to be drawn up, negotiated on, signed. Rubble had to be cleared to make room for more refugees and to not appear overly shabby to their allies. Josephine insisted that this was important, though Miriel failed to see how its important came even remotely close to that of making sure people were safe.

Injuries still plagued her even still a week after the avalanche, and she was refusing to burden the over worked healers. Her feet were sheltered from the elements in thick Ferelden boots and while it was odd getting used to the new balance required for such shoes, she was learning. Her chest was bound all the time to help heal her ribs, and she was constantly applying elfroot extract to her slightly frostbitten ears. The return of blood flow was slow, but healing was happening. She could keep going, so she did.

Miriel barely slept, and when she did it was only for a few hours at a time. In the meantime she handled everything she could, eager to make sure her people, her _clan_ , was safe and sound. She made decisions when Cassandra, Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana could not agree. She worked while they bickered and she did all that she could because she was able. Being Dalish meant that she had received a crash course in crisis management. Step one: get as many people as you can out of the way of harm. Step two: get as far away from the threat as possible. Step three: Keep your people together. Step four: Make sure the people are okay. Step five: If people are not okay, find out how to make them okay. Step six: Make your people okay again with whatever it is they need. Do not bicker, do not fight, just _do_.

She found it ironic that while the shems, Sera, and Solas had disparaged the Dalish frequently and without pause, now it was because of a Dalish elf that Skyhold was up and running so quickly. _Suck it._

She was emerging from the gate towers, finishing up talks with the currently lyrium deprived Templars when Cassandra made eye contact across the courtyard. The Seeker was standing the other advisors and they were all staring at Miriel with little ‘I know something you don’t know’ smiles. Oh dear.

“Lyrium is now a top priority, I assure you,” she told the haggard looking Templars, who sighed in relief and thanked her. Miriel then quickly walked over to Cassandra, who for some reason wasn’t looking quite as angry as usual. As she approached, Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine left, leaving Miriel alone with Cassandra.

“They arrive daily from every settlement in the region. Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage.” Cassandra said, watching refugees bustle about the lower courtyard, carting boxes and other various items they brought from their homes. Miriel was still amazed at how many there were, had there been this many in Haven?

“If word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One. We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated. But we now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus, what drew him to you.” Cassandra took the stairs two at a time, forcing Miriel to walk a bit more quickly to keep up.

“He came for this,” Miriel raised her left hand, the Anchor quietly flickering in her palm, “and now it’s useless to him, so he wants me dead. That’s it.” She explained. She was tired of denying any involvement with the human religion. When had their Maker ever seen fit to protect or elevate elves other than for the pretentious glory of his prophetess? Miriel was not of their religion, and pretending at it, even when denying it, was becoming increasingly tiresome.

“The Anchor has power, but it’s not why you’re still standing here. Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven,” Cassandra spoke confidently, as if she were trying to inspire troops and not discussing events with a colleague. Miriel followed the woman up the stairs, perplexed but intrigued.

“You are the creature’s rival because of what _you_ did. And we know it. All of us.” At the first landing of the stairs stood Leliana, her head bowed in reverence, a large ornamental sword resting on her gloved hand. _Mythal’enaste, what is going on here?_

“The Inquisition requires a leader: the one who has _already_ been leading it.” _Oh Creators, no._ Miriel looked startled at Cassandra, disbelieving as to what exactly was happening. Her? The leader of the Inquisition? She looked down and saw that the refugees had gathered while Cassandra had led Miriel away. Cullen and Josephine stood in the crowd, eyes full of hope and wonder. _They did this_ , she thought. _Those bitches didn’t even warn me._

“You.” Cassandra said plainly.

“You’re offering this to an elf? Are you quite sure what you’re doing?” Miriel whispered hotly.

“I would be terrified handing this power to anyone. But I believe it is the only way. They’ll follow you. To them, being an elf shows how far you’ve risen, how it must have been by Andraste’s hand. What is means to you, how you lead us: that is for you alone to determine.” Cassandra gestured to the sword in Leliana’s hands, stepping aside so that Miriel could approach the blade. It was large, a fearsome dragon wrapped around the hilt and guard.

It was an impressive sword, an even more impressive gathering of hopeful and sadly naïve refugees below. They thought her blessed, sent to them by their god and she was not. But she was an elf and they were still looking at her like that, like she was their savior come to life. In the back of the crowd she saw a young elven boy, his ears currently disproportionately large compared to his head. His face was red, and she could see he was missing a few teeth, but he looked up to her like she was the moon in the sky on a starless night. Her heart softened and she looked back at the sword. She was not sent by the Maker or Andraste, but she was here, and she could make a difference. Miriel reached out and grabbed the hilt, staring at the gleaming blade as she lifted it to her face. _They couldn’t have sprung for a lighter sword, could they?_

“I will lead us against Corypheus, and I will be an ambassador. I’m an elf standing for Thedas. The Inquisition is for all.” She said, voice thick with emotion.

“Wherever you lead us.” Cassandra then approached the ledge of the landing, “Have our people been told?” She cried out to the masses, specifically Cullen and Josephine.

“They have. And soon, the world.” It was the loudest Miriel had ever heard Josephine speak.

“Commander, will they follow?”

“Inquisition! Will you follow?” Cullen shouted. A roaring cheer replied, hands raised and spirits high. “Will you fight? Will we triumph?” He stoked the crowd. Miriel’s responding smile was equal parts enthusiasm and nervousness.

“Your leader! Your Herald! Your Inquisitor!” He declared, turning to Miriel and raising his blade high. Miriel responded in raising the dragon blade as high as she could, thrusting it into the sky. The entire courtyard erupted into a cacophony of cheers, whoops, and hollers as they rallied around her.

**

The boisterous rally did not last for long. And afterwards Miriel was pulled into long meetings about the political instability of Orlais and how the situation needed to be remedied as soon as possible to keep it from falling into Corypheus’s hands. Invitations to the Winter Ball at Halamshiral had to be procured, information from the fronts in the civil war in the Dales had to be processed. They had to respond correctly to different information, sending soldiers here, scouts there, negotiators there. Ravens had to be sent out declaring Miriel Lavellan, the Herald of Andraste, as the new Inquisitor.

There was so much work to do and only so many hours of the day.

“Alright, I think we should call it a night and go to sleep. We can continue this in the morning,” Cassandra declared after staring at the War Table for five minutes straight without coming up with anything productive to say.

“Oh thank the Creators,” Miriel said, leaning over the table with her hands braced in the Korcari Wilds. Her head sagged before she pushed herself off the table. Cullen sighed and shrugged.

“Very well. Jim, do you have that report about Jones?” And the man continued to work. Miriel had no idea how he did it as he strode of the room without appearing the slight bit worried about exhaustion.

“Inquisitor?” A servant popped her head into the room, and Miriel sighed, not more work, please no.

“Yes?” She asked, not bothering to hide the exhaustion.

“Your quarters are ready,” what a wonderful thing to say – what?

“Of course they’re ready, I made my bed and everything this morning,” Miriel said, dubious as to what was going on. Josephine and Leliana suddenly appeared by Miriel.

“Surprise! The workers were finally able to clear rubble from the stairs leading up into the tower. Apparently the tower was the master of the hold’s quarters, and we only saw it fit to grant the space to you. Don’t worry, all of your things have been moved there.” Josephine declared happily.

“Of the surprises today…that is not my least favorite,” Miriel said as she followed the entirely too awake servant. Oh Creators, there were stairs. So. Many. Stairs.

“I changed my mind, this is my least favorite,” she grumbled as she trudged up the stairs. The top of the tower, however, proved to be worth it. It was a large space, though not too large as to feel overbearing and wasteful. Instead it was spacious, with large windows and two balconies that allowed a wonderful breeze to billow in. There was a desk in the corner, a bed pushed up against the far wall, and a large fire place that warmed the entire space. While it was all beautiful and serene and quite nice (mental note: thank Josie in the morning), Miriel only had eyes for the bed. The beautiful, double bed with the loudest blue and gold Orlesian print on the bedspread.

“Thank you for leading me here, falon, now I must ask you to leave,” Miriel murmured, not really caring that she had used elven with a human woman. To her credit, the servant merely bowed and descended the stairs, leaving Miriel blessedly alone.

The elf wasted no time in flopping onto her bed, curling up in the blanket and promptly passing out.

**

They had not spoken in what felt like forever. It was more like a week, but after he had become such a fixture in her day to day life, it felt like forever. She would wake up, sneak into the kitchen cabin in Haven, steal as many croissants as possible, then skip up to Solas with whom she would share her stash with. They would talk about the Fade and spirits before heading out to go do adventuring. When on the road, she would stretch then make breakfast for everyone, and she would sit next to him while they ate.

At Skyhold, she woke up, got dressed, was served breakfast on the go by Kaity, a quiet serving girl, and then put to work. She had no idea what Solas had been up to while she had been running around like a maniac, and she now felt bad for not knowing and not remembering to find some spare time to find him. She had noticed him in the rotunda across from Cullen’s office a few times, though she did not know if that was coincidence or if he had really claimed the space as his.

Either way, Miriel decided to start her search there. She skipped into the rotunda, so glad to have found a moment away from all the chaos to find him. She entered the room and gasped as she saw that he had indeed been busy this week. A large mural was now plastered in a rectangular panel on the far wall.

“Solas?” She asked in a small voice, staring at the beautiful painting. Her hand went to her chest as she stepped further into the room. The lines were precise and the shading carefully and masterfully accomplished all the while capturing the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes perfectly.

“Hello,” a familiar voice said. She turned around to see a smiling Solas, and her chest tightened at the unexpected beauty she saw in him. His eyes twinkled and he somehow seemed…younger as he stood straighter with a certain cockiness that she found extremely appealing.

“Hi,” she breathed. She felt keenly aware of her heart and her hands and she really didn’t know what to do with either. So she fidgeted and her heart beat faster as he approached her.

“Do you like the mural?” His voice was rich, clipped, and her stomach was doing flips in the beautiful rhythm his speech sometimes fell into.

“It’s…amazing, I no idea you could paint.” She somehow answered.

“It has been quite some time since I have had such a large canvas to work on. It is nice to be able to do this again,” he said, smiling contentedly at his handiwork.

“When did you do this before?”

“In my youth. Did you come here to simply to admire my painting skills?” He asked, smiling roguishly at her. Once again she was blushing, eyes widening as her stomach fluttered.

“Would you like me to admire something else?” She asked suggestively, her eyes raking over his delightfully built form. Solas chuckled, his smile turning from dashing rogue to adorable bashfulness as a slight blush tinted his cheeks.

“But really, Solas, this is beautiful.” She said honestly and a bit breathlessly.

“Its beauty pales in comparison to yours, lethallan,” he practically purred and her cheeks resumed their previous reddish hue. Damn him and his ability to do this to her! And why did she react this way? She was hardly the stereotypical blushing virgin type; Creators, she wasn’t even a virgin! So why all the blushing?

“I can’t help it if I literally glow,” she joked. At least her blushing didn’t really interfere with her ability to have good comebacks. Even so, she doubted she would ever get used to his casual flirtations. She also doubted if her heart would ever stop beating quickly whenever he complimented her. _Casual flirtations, emphasis on casual, Miri._ He laughed low in his throat as he turned towards her, giving her the full brunt of his playful gaze.

“So is there anything in particular that brought you here?” He asked and she shrugged.

“What, is it not enough to want to simply talk to you? I’m interested in what you told me of yourself and your studies. If you have time, I’d like to hear more,” She asked back. His smile broadened and stood straighter as he began to walk past her.

“You continue to surprise me. All right, let us talk…preferably somewhere more interesting than this.” He continued to walk and she followed him out of the rotunda and into Haven. For a brief moment she found the transition odd, but that feeling quickly vanished as she skipped along the path to keep up with Solas.

The snow fell softly and crunched under her feet as she strolled through small village toward the Chantry. She paid the cold and snow no mind as she followed Solas, enjoying watching him. It was so rare that she actually got to observe how the man moved outside of his warm and somewhat bulky robes, and she had to say, she was not displeased. He moved with elegant purpose, with long strides and precise muscle movements. And Creators, his _body._ Who knew that a hobo apostate could have a strong, toned body?

Miriel pulled herself back to reality and looked around her, curious.

“Why here?” She asked noting that they were not clothed for the weather yet she didn’t feel cold.

“Haven is familiar, it will always be important to you,” she could feel the persistent small smile in his voice.

“Yes, but we talked about that already.” They were then standing in the holding cell she had woken up in. _Must’ve gotten distracted by him to realize that we had walked here._ He paused before speaking again.

“I sat beside you while you slept, studying the Anchor.” According to Varric, Solas had worked tirelessly to save her. Even the Templars who had been watching him had been impressed by the consistent focus he was able to maintain to suppress and prevent the Anchor from killing her. But of course, it was all about the Anchor. But he flirted with her almost constantly now, making casual comments on her beauty, her grace, he had even mentioned her wisdom, of all things, once.

Her mind lingered on that idea: casual. His flirtations were casual…right? Creators, what if he was interested in her? Her heart sped up as she considered him actually having an interest in pursuing her. It wouldn’t exactly be surprising with the amount of flirting they did and she could have sworn that they almost kissed the night before the assault on the Breach. But he had stepped away, just like he had done at the inn before meeting the meeting with the mages. Her heart fell a little bit at the realization that he most likely just a flirt…a highly selective flirt who had singled her out because of what? Her elfiness? There were other beautiful elven girls in the Inquisition, non-Dalish ones that didn’t swear to the Creators or talk about the Dread Wolf, and as far as she knew, he never spoke to them as he spoke to her.

“How long can it take to look at a mark on my hand?” She asked and he smiled happily.

“A magical mark of unknown origin, tied to a unique breach in the veil? Longer than you might think. I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn’t produce results.” Miriel rolled her eyes.

“Cassandra’s like that with everyone.” She explained and he chuckled.

“Yes,” they were then walking outside of the Chantry. _Strange,_ she thought, _damn man, distracting me with his eyes and his smile._ He was just…there was something about him right now that was different. He felt more energized, his eyes were brighter and he smiled more easily. Her heart ached as she watched him, unable to conceal her own smile at watching him be so obviously happy.

“You were never going to wake up. How could you, a mortal sent physically through the Fade? I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra…or she in me, I was ready to flee.”

“The Breach threatened the whole world. Where did you plan to go?” She looked at him skeptically, brows together, but with a small smile. He returned her smile with a broader one.

“Someplace far away where I might research a way to repair the Breach before its effects reached me. I never said it was a good plan,” they chuckled together, then he turned to stare at the Breach. _I thought I closed that thing…_

“I told myself: one more attempt to seal the rifts. I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then…” she remembered vividly the first time she closed a rift. Solas had grabbed her arm and raised it up to the pulsating green tear. She felt the magicks in her hand react almost instantaneously. It burned the first time, rushed through her skin, responding to the call to _close_. Solas’s voice brought her back to reality.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation. You had sealed it with a gesture…and right then, I felt the whole world change.” Her breath hitched, _he didn’t just…._

“You felt the whole world change?” Her voice was soft as she stepped forward, daring to hope that he could, maybe, return some semblance of the feelings she felt for him.

“A figure of speech.” His words were trying to back out of it, but his feet were staying put. _Watch a man’s feet, they will speak volumes of what a man wishes to do,_ one of her friends had told her.

“I’m aware of the metaphor. I’m more interested in ‘felt.’” His face softened as he seemed to lean into her ever so slightly.

“You change…everything.” She blushed and looked demurely away, only drawing her eyes back up to look at him through her lashes.

“Sweet talker.”  He glanced away, and she could see the moment try to fade within him. _No, he…I can’t just stop, not now,_ and so she took a risk. She reached up and gently pulled his face to hers, pressing her lips to his. His lips were lush and soft and they seemed to fit perfectly with hers. She allowed herself a solid second to enjoy the kiss before realizing he wasn’t moving or responding. _Oh._ She stepped back, blushing as embarrassment flooded her. It was stupid and silly and she should never have – hands were suddenly on her waist, pulling her bodily back to him. Miriel was forced to turn around and look up at him with wide eyes as he pressed his lips back to hers, insistently, warmly.

She gasped in surprise, a slight motion that had Solas opening his own mouth. His tongue ran across the seam of her lips, seeking entrance. Her eyes fluttered close as she parted her lips, eager to taste him. His mouth was hot and his tongue was sinful as it rubbed against hers. Her hands rose up his chest, tugging absently at his tunic before resting on his shoulders.

By the holy Creators this was actually happening. Solas and her. Kissing. No, no, _snogging_. And it was amazing. It was jumping into a pool of cool water in the heat of summer. It was licking the sweetest icing off of a ridiculous Orlesian pastry. It was getting drunk on Antivan red wine in the tallest tree she could climb up, swaying happily, stupidly out on the branches. It was just about damn near perfect was it was.

Solas dragged his hands down her back, landing at the top of her ass, which he then squeezed appreciatively. He pulled her forward as he stepped forward. The effect was lightning firing up through her body. Her bottom was dragged up his right thigh, his very muscular thigh from what she could feel. He bent her backwards, angling her so that he was all of her support. She had to cling to him to stay upright, not that she had a problem with this, mind you.

Alright, it was officially perfect. Though she was pretty sure that this counted as more than a first kiss. He was practically getting her off, so this was _at least_ up to third kiss material.

She shivered as pleasure raked through her body. Hands fisted the soft material of Solas’s tunic as she began to practically lose her mind in a desperate attempt to get closer to him. Breathless and needy, Miriel gasped and mewled into his mouth, sucking on his tongue as he dragged her along his thigh. _Oh fuck._

Solas groaned into her mouth before breaking away. Disappointment took her but was quickly assuaged by his quick return. He kissed her hard and fast, hands squeezing her buttocks one last time before he stepped back and righted both of them.

If he was beautiful before, Solas after being thoroughly snogged was a masterpiece. His cheeks were flushed, lips red and swollen, while his normally sad, lovely droopy eyes glowed with heat and desire. It was the eyes that did it in for her. She leaned forward, seeking his lips once more, only to have him lean back from her.

Miriel’s breathing was labored and she was certain she was red from neck to ears, and that blush wasn’t going anywhere any time soon if Solas continued to look at her like that. Like she was his oasis in the middle of a blistering desert.

“We shouldn’t. It isn’t right. Not even here.” _What was he talking about?_ He took another step back, also taking his hands from her body.

“What do you mean, ‘even here’?” He grinned slyly at her confusion.

“Where did you think we were?” Suddenly it all made sense, the sudden bouncing from place to place…and the fact that she couldn’t exactly recall how she got to Haven.

“This isn’t real.” She murmured, looking around at the seemingly very real surroundings. He smiled and gave a small chuckle.

“That’s a matter of debate…probably best discussed after you _wake up_.”

**

Miriel woke with a gasp, throwing herself up into a sitting position. She was sweaty, aroused, and breathing quickly. Her heart raced in her chest, and she couldn’t stop thinking about _him_ and his _lips_ and his _hands_ and his perfectly formed _thigh._ _Oh Creators._ She wanted him, and now that she knew he wanted her too… _but he pulled away._

She was combing her hair, primping a bit before going downstairs to confront him before she even really realized what she was doing. Hair fluffed, eyes lined, and maybe even a little lip color, and she was skipping downstairs to kiss, _talk_ to, him.

She ignored Varric’s raised eyebrow at the extra pep in her step and the broad smile on her face. Miriel practically floated into the rotunda with how excited she was. Solas’s right ear twitched before he turned from the mural to look at her. He had schooled his features into a polite expression, but she could see the sparkle in his eyes, and even his smile seemed more authentic than usual.

“Sleep well?” He teased.

“When I asked to talk to you, I didn’t think we’d be doing it in the Fade. Or, for that matter, _doing it_ in the Fade.” She joked, hoping to tease a smile and maybe even a laugh out of him. He laughed and her heart lightened at the sound.

“I apologize. The kiss was impulsive and ill considered, and I should not have encouraged it.” _Oh you are NOT backing out of this, mister, nu-uh._

“You say that, but you’re the one who started with tongue.” She said suggestively, hoping to rekindle the passion she had seen in the Fade.

“I did no such thing.” He denied it, _you know what you did, lethallin._

“Oh, does it not count if it’s only Fade-tongue?” She teased him some more, poking him, prodding. His eyes twinkled but then he grew serious, his eyes darkening and his body leaning away from her. He sighed.

“It has been a long time, and things have always been easier for me in the Fade. I am not certain this is the best idea. It could lead to trouble.” She exhaled and stepped forward.

“I’m willing to take that chance, if you are.” Her warm eyes met his cool and he seemed to soften somewhat. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch him, to rub his chest or touch his cheek.

“I… may be, yes. If I could take a little time to think. There are… considerations.” She was confused, but she understood needing time, and respected that.

“Take all the time you need.” If he needed time, Miriel would give it, she had never met anyone like him and she knew that her keening for him was not going to go away any time soon. She liked him for his pensive and quiet nature, needing time to consider being with her was not out of the ordinary for him.

“Thank you. I am not often thrown by things that happen in dreams. But I am reasonably certain we are awake now, and if you wish to discuss anything, I would enjoy talking.” So he was thrown by what happened, she only hoped that he would eventually be as excited and positive about it as she was.

“Do you make it habit of kissing girls in the Fade?” She resumed her teasing only because it was too easy and she enjoyed seeing him blush, he was adorable.

“It appears you have figured me out, lethallan.” He chuckled and played with her. She was glad he was able to still willing be playful with her, even with the addressed sexual tension between them.

“You like to show the ladies your exceptional talents with the Fade, impress them with conjuring beautiful landscapes.” He laughed a bit.

“Yes, the Fade is my preferred place for courtship.” She batted her eyelashes and smiled as coyly as possible.

“Well, you can catch me in the Fade any time, but not now, because I have Inquisitor business to attend to.” She sauntered slowly past him, stopping just so that her mouth was close to his ear.

“Take as much time as you need, but just so you know, I’m in this, no matter what trouble that may arise. And who knows, lethallin, maybe a little bit of trouble is just what you need.” She left him with a pleasantly shocked expression on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting the new year with fade tongue and thigh. Right on. Anyways, happy new year! Thank you for reading, please comment, leave kudos if you are so inclined :)


	12. Can Anybody Hear?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Potential TW: there is a description of a panic attack at the very beginning. If you feel like you may have a visceral negative reaction to it, please skip to the first "**". Please be good to yourself, dear reader.
> 
> Miriel has been having trouble sleeping and seeks help. SFW

** Can Anybody Hear? **

Black. Everything was black, except it where it was blindingly green – light slithering out of the darkness, twisting around her body, holding her in a vice-like grip. She thrashed, head whipping to and fro as she tried to free herself from the light, to fall back into the darkness.

“ _Witness the will that is Corypheus._ ” Whispered reverberated in her skull, inescapable.

“ _You have spoilt it with your stumbling._ ” Closer still, all around her, in her.

“ _Cannot allow you to survive._ ”

“ _Kill._ ”

Cold air shocked her system as Miriel bolted up in her bed. She saw her room with its open doors and soft billowing drapes, but all she felt were the searing hot claws of the demons that still cackled in her mind. Heart racing, chest heaving, and eyes wide she shrank back into her bed – a heavy pressure resting upon her back and chest.

It was the third night in a row that Miriel woke screaming from a nightmare. Her entire body shook as she sobbed into her pillow. The Mark flickered and she flinched away from its light. It was because of that damn thing that the demons wanted her; they assaulted her sleeping mind readily and often. Creeping, crawling, screeching into her mind they came, green light a throbbing pain against her temple. Terror whipped through her, an invisible hand pressing her closer into the bed. She couldn’t move, why couldn’t she move? She needed to move! She had to run! Flee! Escape! But she couldn’t, she couldn’t move, because if she moved, it would know, it would see.

It laughed in the back of her mind, _look at the little elf girl, all alone…all alone…all alone._ Her chest heaved even faster as she silently cried in anguish. She was paralyzed, her only movement subjected to the sobs wracking her body. Her mouth curved open in a perpetual silent scream. She curled inward, her muscles following the whim of the terror instead of her mind. Her body wasn’t listening to her, it was as if it wasn’t her own and that fueled the terror even more. She was out of her own control, a slave to the power that she hadn’t even asked for.

Heart pounding, sweat dripping, the sheets suddenly feeling suffocating, Miriel prayed that someone would come in, see her. Could they save her? Could she be saved? _What is happening to me?_

The more she thought, the worse it got, so she tried to stop thinking, focused on her breathing. Breathe. In….out….in…out…in…out. A flicker of a memory of lying in the soft grass on the edges of a forest crept into her mind. She clung to the memory, trying to feel the prickle of the grass instead of the too soft sheets of the bed. She tried to feel the sunlight warming her face, the sound of the birds chirping, the wind gently blowing. Laughter trickled through the edges of her mind, but unlike the demons, this laughter was welcome. Her clan…Dhavon, there, laughing. For some reason the distant sound of his voice seemed to calm her, a warm blanket wrapping around her in a reaction that she didn’t fully understand. But it didn’t matter, her heart began to slow.

Nobody came in to help her as she rode it out, as she felt everything around too clearly. Nobody heard her silence.

It took Miriel over an hour before her breathing began to return to normal, the sobs subsiding into sniffles. She didn’t want to be alone, but she still couldn’t really move. So she stayed in her too large bed, her sheets twisted around her sweat covered body. She listened to the night sounds, the wind moving the trees, a calm whistle. No birds chirped, but a dog barked every now and then. She heard the whispering murmurs of insomniacs and secret lovers. A wolf howled, a lonely sound that she felt strangely comforted by. That wolf was all alone, like her in that moment. She wanted to reach out to that wolf, feel its soft fur and howl with it. They could be two lone voices in the night. And maybe, just maybe, she could prove the demons wrong.

Miriel did not fall back asleep that night; instead she stayed up, listening to all of the solitary noises of the night.

**

Miriel was exhausted beyond measure. The terror of the night and lack of sleep plus all the exertion from her regular excursions were taking a toll. Her muscles felt strained and limp at the same time, her body moving in an automated fashion. She had only returned from helping Cassandra find the missing Seekers before last night, worn out from fighting experienced men and women, and then to not receive any sleep? It was amazing that she was able to focus on the report on the Dales in front of her.

“We just received an urgent SOS from the soldiers in the Exalted Plains. It looks like both Gaspard and Celene’s forces are being assaulted by demons and a group of deserters calling themselves the Freemen of the Dales. Neither Gaspard nor Celene have sent reinforcements, I doubt the soldiers can last much longer without some intervention.” Cullen said as he passed her the reports. Miriel rubbed her face.

“I will leave for the Exalted Plains in two days then, give the crew time to prepare.” Miriel nodded as she handled the paperwork allowing for forward scouts to head to the Plains.

“Varric would like to present a matter that may be of use to the Inquisition,” Leliana explained as the dwarf stepped forward.

“I have a friend who has previous dealings with Corypheus, I sent her a letter when we arrived at Skyhold. I have now received word back that she will be here in two weeks.” Varric looked nervous as he explained but Miriel nodded, happy at the news.

“Great, that means whatever we do in the Plains will have to be quick to be back in time to meet your friend. Great work everybody.” That usually dismissed the group but this time nobody left, they all just got in closer and began talking to her at once. _Always a million things!_

“Cullen first! Then Leliana, then Josephine. Sorry, just usually if Cullen is coming to me about something, it’s urgent, so what is it, Commander?”  

“A patrol has gone missing on the Storm Coast, should we send our own men in or ask the Blades of Hessarian to step in with assistance?”

“How many men are missing?”

“About twelve.”

“Send about ten scouts, Leliana, with a missive asking for the Blades’ help in this matter, we want those men back.” She signed off on the missive.

“Yes, Inquisitor, thank you.” The Commander left, reading over reports. Leliana stepped forward, handed a bundle to the Inquisitor and smiled.

“There are signs of Dalish clan movements from all around Orlais.” Miriel’s brow furrowed.

“Is there a general pattern they are following or does each display a different movement pattern?”

“They all seem to be heading southward, toward the Dales. News of a Dalish becoming the Inquisitor seems to have reached your people, Inquisitor.” Miriel found herself smile.

“Well hopefully they like the news.”

“There could be ramifications of this movement, your Worship.” Josephine stepped in, looking concerned. “The Dalish clans in Orlais are small for a reason, Inquisitor, the Orlesians do not take too kindly to your people. Proclaiming an alliance with your people could potentially make it more difficult to forge an alliance with Orlais.”

“I am aware of that, Ambassador, but this movement could not be exactly toward the Dales, but towards Skyhold. Solas says that this place was built upon an elven ruin, other clans may be more aware of its history than I was. They may know of its existence and its ability to shelter them from the storm that is Corypheus.” Miriel explained. When both her spymaster and ambassador still did not seem satisfied, Miriel sighed.

“Make a public declaration that Skyhold is a haven for all who wish safe harbor from Corypheus – no matter the race. Hopefully we can attract more people we can recruit into agent positions. The Dalish will know that they are welcome here and we don’t have to risk the disapproval of Orlesian nobles and the throne that we will need to woo.” Josie and Leliana smiled at Miriel’s solution, _finally._

“We will monitor the situation closely, Inquisitor,” Josephine nodded and left the room, poised as ever. Leliana did not speak until the Ambassador had closed the door.

“Grey Wardens suffer from nightmares due to the Blight. When I traveled with the Hero of Ferelden, I would hear her wake up in the middle of the night, crying. Alistair comforted her, held her through the worst of it. He understood the horror. When they became romantically involved, his love and comfort were what ensured she slept at all.” Leliana kept her voice and face soft as she spoke, as if Miriel were a piece of delicate glass being handled.

“What are you saying, Leliana?” Miriel looked away from Leliana to stare at the map of southern Thedas. The Spymaster sighed and stepped close to the Inquisitor and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“I am saying that if you need any support or love to help you get through anything, it is there, you need only ask.” Miriel closed her eyes.

“Thank you, Leliana…it means a lot to hear you say that.” Forgoing normal etiquette, Leliana pulled Miriel in for a hug.

“Of course, my friend, of course.” They stood like that for a while, and when they parted they didn’t say anything as they went their separate ways.

**

Miriel was kept busy for the rest of the day; she wasn’t able to dread going to sleep until she was in her room, by herself, the quiet a thousand pound boulder hanging above her head. She tried to go through the motions of getting ready for bed. She stripped off her clothes, put on a simple cotton sleeping shirt that was cut for a human man. She brushed her long, blonde hair. She scrubbed her face free of makeup and then stared at the bed for a long time. The longer she stared, the closer that boulder felt, it was an undeniable pressure and worry. The longer she stared, the closer the terror came, until it was about to reach her.

“NO,” Miriel cried and ran from the room. She ran down the flights of stairs, down the main hall, into the rotunda, up the stairs to the library, through a doorway that led to the main hall mezzanine, through another doorway that led to a balcony, and then down that balcony to the last door. She burst through the door, panting and with wild eyes, startling an almost asleep Solas.

“I need to be held. I need to be comforted and held and help, because I can’t go to sleep alone, I-I can’t, I just can’t.” She didn’t cry but she felt the panic in her eyes as she gazed at him. He blinked at her once, then twice and then nodded.

“Very well,” he moved over on the bed, and she walked further into the room.

“Very well? What do you mean?” She even felt the hysteria coming off of her. Solas looked up at her from his lying down position.

“I am agreeing to help you.” Her brow furrowed.

“I thought you needed time to figure out what you wanted to do, and this isn’t giving you time, dammit, I should have remembered that, I’m sorry-“

“Stop,” he sat up and took her hands in his. “Lethallan, whatever we will be, right now I am your friend. Let me assist you.” She looked away, her hands shaking in his. The tremor had moved up into her shoulders and she closed her eyes, trying to stave off the assault on her senses. Solas moved off the bed and stood.

“Look at me, Miriel, please look at me.” She didn’t, so Solas did the only thing he could think of. He took her into his arms and held her tight.

“Shhh,” he cooed as he rubbed her back. “I am here, lethallan, shhh.” It did not work immediately. She shook for several moments, the almost panic still wracking her body. But her hands moved and grabbed his shirt. She clung to him like a babe to its mother. He was her lifeline, her root in reality. Solas. Solas. _Solas._ His name became a chant in her head as she focused on the soft, worn texture of his cotton night shirt, the not unpleasant hard presence of his chin on her head. She focused on the soft sweet nothings he whispered. His hands were strong and simultaneously held and rubbed her back.

She was finally able to turn her head and open her eyes. She pressed herself closer into Solas and he hummed his approval.

“There, feel your surroundings. There is nothing here that can harm you. I am here. I will protect you,” he continued to murmur.

“I-I don’t know why,” she said, her raw voice was her first clue that she had been crying into his shirt. Her hand drifted up to her face, feeling the wetness on her cheek.

“It happens because you have survived several ordeals that would break most. Miriel, you are incredibly strong to be holding up this well,” he praised her, pulling away just enough to affectionately touch her face, brushing her hair and tears from her face.

“I don’t feel particularly strong right now,” she replied.

“We cannot always be strong,” he paused briefly, watching her face with the most tender expression she had ever seen him don.

“I know a sleeping spell that would allow you to sleep undisturbed by demons,” he offered and she did not hesitate to nod her head.

“That would be perfect, thank you,” she bit her lip before taking a deep breath, “and Solas? Could…may I sleep here, with you, tonight?” His eyes widened before she rushed out, “I-I just can’t be alone when I wake up. I don’t want to be alone.”

“I understand, lethallan. And yes, you may sleep here tonight,” he directed her to the bed where she sat. Solas moved his hands away only to cast his spell. His magic fell over her like a familiar warm blanket and she drifted comfortably into sleep.

Solas caught her and readjusted her on the bed. Unsure of what she needed in sleep, Solas eased them both under the covers and took her hand in his. Impulsively, he kissed the back of her hand before closing his eyes and easing into the Fade.

**

Solas woke up to scent of flowers and a soft tingly feeling in his nose. He was warm, warmer than usual, but pleasantly so. His body was wonderfully relaxed as was the sleeping woman in his arms was. Wait…what? Solas opened his eyes and realized that the soft tingly feeling in his nose was Miriel’s hair. He was warm because his body was curled around hers under the blanket. His arm was wrapped around her, holding her hand by her face, while her head rested on his other arm. Their bodies were completely pressed up against each other, with his curled around her much smaller frame. He moved to exit the embrace but it seemed to rouse her. She moved and he stopped, not wanting to wake her. She seemed so peaceful, and it seemed so…right for her to be sleeping there, in his arms. Something in his mind said that this was not good, that he was getting in too deep, but then she nuzzled his arm and all those doubts left his mind.

With a soft sigh, Solas allowed his body to relax around hers. He looked down at her face and a smile spread across his own. She was young, only twenty five years old, but with the tension she faced on a daily basis, she often looked older with lines tense around her eyes and mouth. But here, seeing her asleep and finally relaxed, she appeared young and mercilessly beautiful. Even with the cruel Vallaslin, she was the most beautiful creature he had ever had the privilege of seeing. She was radiant, and he was not simply referring to her obvious physical beauty, but her spirit. Void take him, but her _spirit._ At first he had been shocked that such a kind and genuine soul could exist in the squalor of this world. That shock had turned to admiration which had then turned to protection. A spirit such hers was rare even among the days of Arlathan, it was then a miracle that it existed at all in this world and it had to be protected. Protection had then morphed into affection as she revealed her more playful nature, encouraging his own lingering teasing tendencies to come forth. He smiled sadly as knew that affection was what had spurred him to respond to passionately to her kiss in the Fade. _The kiss…_ how long had it been since he had been kissed with honest affection? He could not even recall, and he did not wish to because it could not even hope to compare to the softness, the fullness, and the perfect responsiveness that Miriel possessed. No other could taste as sweet, would ever come close to breaking his control like she had.

She had this ability to see the holes in his armor and wiggle herself into them, getting close to him, and breaking that armor from him. She rattled and confused him all the while instilling a heat and desire within him that both annoyed and thrilled him. Miriel was simply unlike any other he had ever met. And when she shifted, pulling his hand closer into her chest so that she could essentially hug his arm, he sighed and rested his head on top of hers. It had been so long since he had felt anything like this odd mixture of peace, affection, and absolute shock. He found himself reticent of it going away, so he held her and pressed his lips to the top of her head.

**

Miriel woke up in Solas’s arms in utter bliss. The man was a total cuddle monger. When he had moved over to her in the middle of the night with searching arms she had been shocked. He had wrapped his arms around her; his leg went over her hip and pressed her even closer. She had moved away once and the man had made the most pitiful whine in his sleep! So she had snuggled back up into his arms, earning a pleased noise that was half way between a grunt and a sigh.

Other than the brief time she was awake with the cuddle monster that is sleeping Solas, she had slept soundly without nightmares. She had no idea what time it was, and she didn’t care, what she did care about was the fact that awake Solas was also a warm cuddle monster who wasn’t letting her go. That was wonderful. What was more wonderful was that she was rested enough to recognize how wonderful it was that he was holding her, fully conscious and aware of his actions, and not pulling away.

As wonderful as it all was, she needed to move. Her muscles were beginning to cramp, so she began to move and they both adjusted themselves until she was resting on her back and he was on his side, propping his head up with his left hand.

“Good morning,” he said, bringing his hand up to push her hair out of her face. His fingers lingered for the briefest second on her cheek and she gave a small smile.

“Hi,” she whispered back. Her hands trailed up his chest, feeling him through his sleep shirt.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked softly and she nodded.

“Much better, thank you,” she began, but then she smiled mischievously, “thanks to your expert cuddling skills.” His brow lifted in curiosity.

“Are you suggesting that I initiated that particular sleeping position?” He asked, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger and thumb.

“No, I am saying you _did_ initiate it. You pulled me into your chest and everything, it was very cute,” she explained and not so subtly scooched closer to him.

“I did no such thing,” he immediately responded and she frowned, ears drooping.

“You don’t want to cuddle me?” She asked softly and he stopped twirling her hair to look her in the eye.

“I did not say that,” he replied. She wiggled a bit and stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. Miriel laid her hand on her dramatically and sighed.

“No, no, it’s okay. I understand, I am not worthy of such cuddles.”

He pursed his lips at her antics, “You are being ridiculous.”

“No hugs for Miri, nope, no hugs, or cuddles, or even pats on the head!” She lamented. Yes, she was being ridiculous and dramatic but at that moment, she couldn’t really care. She had slept. And not only had she slept, but she had slept in this beautiful, smart-ass, intelligent man’s arms.

Solas sighed and looked at her for a moment before smiling and shaking his head. Before she could respond, he was pulling her back into his embrace. He turned so that he was laying on his back and her head rested on his chest while her body curled around his body. She gasped in surprise but then smiled as she snuggled into his body.

“I am glad you are feeling better,” he whispered at the top of her head. She hummed in happiness as he placed his hand on top of hers by her face.

“Ma serannas, Solas,” she murmured back, nuzzling his chest affectionately.

**

He was fairly convinced that she had planned this whole morning so that they ended up even more entangled than when they were sleeping, but for the life of him, Solas could not be upset one bit about it. She was so small in his arms, but so strong, and he couldn’t bring himself to let her go any time soon that morning. She was late to a dozen meetings but neither of them were upset or concerned about the time spent that morning, resting happily in their own little cocoon away from the rest of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so late, I am so sorry. Life has been a bit crazy since I have been moving into a new apartment. But better late than never, yes?
> 
> So notes about this chapter. I am aware that Solas may be a bit, or a lot, out of character. Because of that, I debated with myself a lot over whether I should post this or not. I decided to post it because it holds a lot of meaning not only for Miriel but for me as well. I actually wrote this, or a very early version of this, about a year ago when I was beginning to really suffer from panic attacks. Writing was really one of the only outlets that helped, so this happened. And by "this" I mean this entire fanfiction. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope this didn't get too "after school special" for you. You are the loveliest readers and I sincerely hope you have a wonderful day.
> 
> PS. the chapter title is based off of the song "I'm In Here" by Sia.


	13. All New, Faded For Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas's personal quest and mostly his POV. SFW. Also, Trespasser spoilers, ye be warned.

He sought Wisdom the next night, needing its input and guidance about Miriel. That vexing, endearing, sensual woman was doing things to his mind (and his body) and he needed a second opinion he could trust. He knew that whatever dalliance with Miriel would be doomed. He knew that as compelling and tempting and beautiful and wondrous and – the point was that nothing long-term could come of it. He thought. Perhaps. Fenedhis, doubt crept through him as that woman took hold of his heart, and for the life of him, he just couldn't be sorry about that.

This was why he needed Wisdom. He needed objectivity in a situation where he was completely beholden to his subjectivity. It would be good to see it, as well. It had been far too long since they had spoken.

Hands behind his back, a clear mind and he was warping the surroundings around him. Moving them and himself simultaneously as he went to the grove Wisdom had claimed as its little arena of being. Its words, not his.

The world around him bent and wavered before coalescing into one singular visage. Solas smiled as he strode forward, enjoying the calm perpetual breeze that Wisdom had installed about eleven centuries back. The sun hung low in the sky, though it was difficult to determine if it was to simulate dawn or dusk, perhaps it was both, the Fade was capable of reflecting many things at once after all. The grass was soft, green, and slightly damp as if it had rained the day prior. The earth bent and dipped down into a small valley where trees from all over the world grew. A couple of magnolia trees greeted him, and beside them grew Eucalyptus and oaks. Various types of Willows and Mangroves grew along the path, sprouting from dark, wet earth in a riot of green. Firs and various fruit trees also grew, offering up ripe treats to passerby. But the greatest tree was the Baobab tree that grew in the middle of the grove. It was the largest and oldest tree, planted there by a young Wisdom whose first friend had been the daughter of an arborist. The daughter had saved a little seed of a tree and given it to Wisdom for safe keeping. Now here the tree stood, tall, proud, and still the home of Wisdom.

Solas walked up to the tree and touched its smooth trunk, marveling at the health the great tree still showed. Over five millennia old and still strong, _I hope I am this strong at that age._ He absently mused. He looked up and his brows furrowed in confusion. Usually Wisdom appeared by now.

"Hello," he said, looking around for his friend. Worry etched deeper into his face as he began to walk around the tree. There was a little hollow in the tree that Wisdom would sometimes curl up in with a book, getting lost in its pages. The last time they had spoken, it had been reading the latest edition of _Hard in Hightown._

"Ma falon?"

But Wisdom was not there, instead there was a softly glowing ball. _A message._ Solas reached out and touched the glowing orb. Terror, confusion, surprise suddenly overwhelmed him as he saw his friend being suddenly torn from the tree. A spell wrapping its dark, twisted fingers around his friend, wrenching it from the Fade and into the physical world.

"NO!" Solas cried as he jerked his hand back. No, no, no, _no!_ This could not be. Who would summon and _bind_ his friend? All it had to give was information and wisdom and you could simply ask…unless…no. He refused to believe it until he saw it with his own two eyes.

He touched the sphere again, searching for a clue as to where his friend might be.

"Ma halani, Fen'Harel!" Echoed in his head as he woke from his dreams, distraught.

**

Miriel woke from a delightfully dreamless sleep. She had spoken with one of the healers about her sleeping issues and one of them had recommended a calming tea with chamomile and something she had dubbed knockout root. The root put people right to sleep and combined with the chamomile, it was supposed to relax both the mind and body, preventing nightmares and other sleeping issues. Despite it being tea and therefore foul, it was wonderful. She had fallen asleep quickly and without trouble, and had stayed asleep without any nightmares.

It was later in the morning than she was used to waking, but she didn't mind. She had slept without a panic attack – that was amazing in and of itself. She stretched with a peaceful smile as she greeted the day. She dressed with extra pep and was happy to see how diminished the dark circles under her eyes were. _Amazing what two straight nights of amazing sleep will do._

She left her room and was amazingly not under fire with requests from people. Nobody approached asking for her assistance or if she could take care of something, it was wonderful. _About time I had a good day._ She practically bounced her way to the kitchen where she ate a small breakfast of berries and toast. Afterwards she made her way to the Rotunda, excited to tell Solas about her success.

Her bare feet made no noise as she made her way into the rotunda. His back was to her but she could feel the scowl emanating off of his body. It wasn't unusual for him to be cranky, but it was unusual for him to be drinking tea, and from the smell coming from the table, he was drinking tea. Her brow furrowed as she stepped slowly into the rotunda. He took a sip from his cup and flinched in disgust.

"Something wrong with your tea?" She crossed the room to him concerned, but he didn't look up.

"It is tea. I detest the stuff. But this morning, I need to shake the dreams from my mind. I may also need a favor." He put the cup on the table and rose from his chair, clearly distraught about something. _He never asks for anything._ And just like that, her good mood was gone, replaced with concern.

"You just have to ask." He nodded at her words and began to pace slowly.

"One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages, forced into slavery. I heard the cry for help as I slept." Her eyes went wide. That was…that was fucked up, no wonder he was so upset.

"When your friend was captured, how did he…she…" Miriel wondered how he knew about this, hearing a cry for help in his sleep indicated a mage or…or something else that Miriel was kind of hoping was not the case.

"It." He answered and that peaked her interest.

"It?" She prompted and he smiled his _I know something you don't know_ smile.

"My friend is a spirit of wisdom. Unlike the spirits clamoring to enter our world through the rifts, it was dwelling quite happily in the Fade. It was summoned against its will, and wants my help to gain its freedom and return to the Fade." Oh this was bad, summoning spirits against their will usually ended in really bad things…like demons.

"I thought spirits wanted to find their way into this world." She wanted to know as much as she could about this spirit, particularly if it was now a demon because of its own actions and it was trying to lure Solas to it so it could then possess him.

"Some do, certainly, just as many Orlesian peasants wish they could journey to exotic Rivain. But not everyone wants to go to Rivain. My friend is an explorer, seeking lost wisdom and reflecting it. It would happily discuss philosophy with you, but it had no wish to come here physically." Okay, that was a good sign. So the spirit probably wasn't luring Solas to possess him, but that meant that mages _had_ summoned it against its will and could potentially be turning it into a demon…if they hadn't already.

"Do you have any idea what the mages want with your friend?" Maybe they mages didn't want a demon? Maybe it was an accident? Apprentices did stupid shit all the time.

"No. It knows a great deal of lore and history, but a mage could learn that simply by speaking to it in the Fade. It is possible that they seek information it does not wish to give and intend to torture it." Torture, another bad option in an already awful situation. _This is turning into a shit storm fast._

"All right, Solas. Any friend of yours is one of mine, we'll head out as soon as possible. Where is your friend being held?"

"In the Exalted Plains, I will mark it on your map….and Inquisitor? Thank you." He was clearly relieved at hearing her agree to help him. _Was there any doubt that I would?_

"Solas, of course, after everything you have done for me…it is the least I could do." She smiled at him and gently touched his arm.

"We're going to rescue your friend." She reassured him with a smile. He looked at her with hopeful eyes, _those mages will pay if they hurt his friend._

She left the Rotunda in a sour mood. She may have been well rested but now she was extremely concerned. Mages summoning spirits to the physical world was never a good thing, and Solas was being pulled into this mess. Nobody fucked with her friends, or her friends' friends for that matter.

**

They left for the Exalted Plains later in the day. They were originally scheduled to leave for the plains in the next day, but Miriel had sped the process up without breeching Solas's privacy. She accepted his moodiness on the journey, she let him be and if Bull or Cassandra were about to comment, she would glare until they got the message. She simply sat next to him, not touching but close enough to offer the comfort of her presence. He would later be grateful, but for now he worried about Wisdom and stewed in ancient regrets and mistakes.

He wanted to keep going at the end of the first day of travel, but Miriel shook her head and pointed out that it would do no good to be sleep deprived when they came across whoever imprisoned Wisdom. He had grudgingly agreed. They set up camp in silence. While Miriel hadn't said anything about why they were hurrying to the plains, the Iron Bull knew something was up and Cassandra wasn't an idiot, she must have also gotten the hint. There wasn't any of the normal party banter, of which Solas was grateful. He was in an absolutely wretched mood of anger and self-loathing.

_It was the only choice_ , he told himself over and over again. Other options were far worse, the death toll would have been astronomical and the world may not have even recovered. The Veil was the only viable option. But to see its effects like this…Wisdom should have been safe in its grove. They had both enchanted it extensively to prevent such chances that it would be summoned. And yet, somehow it was summoned. When he had examined the enchantments in the Fade, he found that Wisdom itself had weakened the seals. It was then that Solas realized that the seals were weak because of him. There was no doubt that with the Veil and after waking after such a long time in sleep that he was much weaker than before. Wisdom must have weakened the barrier between it and everyone to allow Solas passage. It was then his doing that Wisdom was now enslaved.

Solas scowled deeply as he ate his dinner. Miriel had taken her usual seat next to him, but she did not speak to him. She respected his need for social space but the odd need to not be alone. Every time he felt that strange feeling of isolation and separation, a dissociation of sorts from this world and its people, she would somehow suddenly be there. It was as if she had a sixth sense that told her when he needed to be grounded again, to be brought back into reality with a gentle hand and heart. It was kind and generous and completely maddening.

How could she be like this? It would be entirely simpler if she was what he had expected: dull, lifeless, brash, uninterested in any sort of learning or bettering of herself. If she was what he had predicted a Dalish hunter to be, then this issue of him wanting to pursue her would not be present. Instead, the young woman was a brilliant burst of life, color, curiosity, and overall enchantment that he just could not escape from. Worse yet was that he did not wish to escape. But the worst part of it was not his desire for her, no, it was _her_ desire for him. Solas had taken great pains to appear quiet, aloof, and totally apart from everyone else. He had thought this would deter her, and anyone else, from even wanting to be around him – he had apparently miscalculated.

Why was he even thinking about this? About her? He should be focusing his energy on saving Wisdom, not about some maudlin dalliance with a mortal woman.

And yet Solas glanced at Miriel and she gave a small friendly smile in return. His expression remained neutral when he returned to staring at the fire. Normally he would read, but he wasn't focused enough for it. He wished to walk the Fade but he was too awake for it, so he sat there staring at the fire.

Miriel looked at him and gently took his hand in hers. It seemed to jolt him out of his reverie. He turned his head toward her, his eyes kinder.

"Go to sleep, walk the Fade. I can make you nice special tea that will knock you right out if you want." She offered kindly but he only grimaced and shook his head.

"No, no more tea," he closed his eyes as she squeezed his hand.

"I could just hit you over the head," she teased. He gave a half-hearted snort of laughter.

"A concussed mage is hardly good company, lethallan."

"Oh I wouldn't hit that hard, just enough to knock you out for a bit."

"That would mean a concussion. Are you so eager to injure me?"

"Oh! You found me out, you just drive me crazy, with all that broodiness and frowniness," Miriel paused as she gazed at him, her expression soft and full of concern, "you really ought to smile more." He sighed and looked back at the fire.

"I will smile when there is reason to," she didn't redirect her gaze from him.

"I suppose I will have to give you a reason then, after we save your friend," she squeezed his hand again before standing and heading to her tent. He watched her go, finding himself hoping that she would give him a reason to smile.

**

Solas guided Wisdom to death as his heart broke. This particular spirit had been his friend for over a thousand years. It had seen him grow and lose and grow some more. It had provided him counsel and support more times than he could count. And now it was gone. That history…those memories…just…gone.

"Dareth shiral," he murmured absently as it faded away into death. Ageless sorrow bore into him, his shoulders sagging from its weight. Another piece lost in this senseless world.

"I heard what it said," Miriel said softly behind him, "it was right. You did help it."

"Now I must endure," he said. It was not so much a reply as it was the truth. He had to keep going, even as the weight of loss tried to paralyze him.

"Let me know if I can help," and there she was, her empathy and kindness seeping out of her and trying to wrap around him in some sort of comfort. Miriel.

He forced himself to stand and walk towards her. He contorted his features into a sad smile, her eyebrows drew together in response as she leaned forward.

"You already have," his voice was soft with her. It was true, she had done everything in her power to help, even going so far as to trust him in disrupting the bindings instead of outright killing his friend.

Wisdom.

Solas turned to the mages responsible for its death and sneered, "All that remains now is them."

"Thank you. We would not have risked the summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotected." And so they thought their ignorance could absolve the atrocity of what they did? _Fools!_

"You tortured and killed my friend." He stalked them, power building within him as he strode forward. Gone was the façade of an aloof apostate and he did not care. His body was full of power and these mages would _learn_ of what it meant to be a mage.

"We didn't know it was just a spirit! The book said it could help us!" The stupid one cried. Ignorant. They were all ignorant. A voice in the back of his mind reminded him that their ignorance was ultimately his doing. _That does not matter, I may have given them the crossbow, but they are the ones who consciously decided to loose the bolt._

He strode closer, power building within him.

Suddenly a hand was on his shoulder, and a soft voice speaking to him.

"Vengeance does not absolve the pain of loss, ma falon," Miriel said, sounding so like Wisdom that he wished to shout.

"I wonder if you would say the same if they had murdered one of your clan mates," he spat angrily. He regretted the words almost immediately when he saw the brief flash of hurt on her face.

"I know that I would regret harming those responsible out of a sense of anger and loss rather than reason and justice," damn her. Damn these pathetic excuses for mages. Damn him for creating the Veil and creating this husk of a world.

"Tell me, Inquisitor, of what will happen to them. Will they be tried for murder? And if so, could they even be convicted? How could they be guilty of murder if they did not kill a person? This world does not see my friend as a person. So tell me, Inquisitor, what _justice_ awaits them?" He practically growled. Her eyes grew somber as she realized the truth of his words.

"It isn't right," she whispered. He barked out a laugh.

"Few things are." His power built and swelled until he turned towards the mages and this time she didn't stop him. Their pain and screams were short, their lives ending in a quick brilliant display of fire and power. She did not look away, however.

"Damn them all." Solas felt sick. Wisdom was gone, murdered by the ignorant mages he had helped create, and he had just torn down an ideal from a woman full of light and passion. He had violated her morals with the dismal reality. He would have deemed the lesson necessary with anyone else, but with her it just felt…wrong. Wisdom deserved justice, but this violent vengeance was the closest it was ever going to get in this world that did not even think of it as a person. This sick, twisted, lifeless world.

"I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Skyhold." She didn't say anything as he left, but he could feel her distraught gaze watching him disappear into the plains.

When Solas went into the Fade later that day and visited the spot of where his friend used to be, all he could think about was how he wished Miriel could have met it. They could have long conversations and laugh about arcane things. They would teach her elven, and tell her about Arlathan. It would make jokes about his youth and his hairstyle choices. It would tell him that loving her was the most unwise thing he could do, but that it was glad that he was for once forgoing wisdom…it would have liked her, and she it.

He fell to his knees in mourning, past the point of crying. He just pressed his forehead into the ground and mourned.

**

Solas woke up, potentially days later, he didn't really care. He sat up, hungry, thirsty, and really needing to pee. Once all of his needs were taken care of, he debated on returning to the Fade or not. He felt…worn out, like he was a piece of thread being pulled too far, too thin. He lied back down, holding himself but unable to fall asleep. For once, Solas did not wish to dream. In the midst of the numbness of loss, he only had one desire: he wanted to see Miriel. He wanted to see her smile, the way her eyes lit up when she was happy. He needed her light and her unwavering warmth and kindness as he drew further into himself.

He rose from his bedroll, determined to see her. To remind himself to keep going. Solas left the ruin, an offshoot from Var Bellanaris in the Exalted Plains that most did not know of. It was an old place, not as old as Arlathan…but close. It was a place for the dead to rest, old spells steeped into the soil making it as close to being sacred as anything. He had carried few things with him, and in retrospect, that had not been wise. But he could gather food on the way, another thing Miriel had given him. She had given him so much.

Solas felt out with his magic, feeling for the location of the Mark. He allowed the spell to guide him until he saw small deliberate fires in the distance with dark figures standing and sitting around them. Aravels stood as markers of the Dalish and Solas sighed. Of course she would find the clan, and of course she would flock to them. He knew it was wrong to automatically disparage those that she saw as her people, but their ignorance…it was terminal. Not all of them were like Miriel, no…none of them were like her. They were not filled with a light so bright that it could make an old Elvhen such as him hope again.

He approached the camp, keeping to the shadows, content to only watch. Miriel was standing, no, she was dancing with the small children of the clan. A young man by the fire cheerfully played a flute. Miriel's feet moved quickly with the beat, showing the children how to dance to this particular song. The children, the oldest looking to be about seven years old, skipped along, though clearly not as deft as Miriel. She was smiling, laughing even as she twirled about. _Beautiful._ If he was a poet, he would compose sonnets about every aspect of her. Maybe even serenade her with poetic rhapsodies about how she seemed to glow in the firelight, her light burning out that of the moon and the stars.

Miriel bent down and picked up a small boy, spinning him around as she improvised a step. The children around her cried out their surprise and happiness. The boy in her arms giggled and wiggled in the air. As she stopped spinning she brought the boy in for a hug, holding him close and kissing him on the cheek.

Something in Solas's chest clenched as he watched the exchange. Miriel had never spoken on what she wanted for the future, if she desired children. But watching her engage with the children by the fire, so enthusiastically chasing them, dancing with them…he knew she would welcome any children brought into her home. She would love being a mother. Solas sighed. Just another thing he couldn't give her.

This was ridiculous. She was young, full of vitality and hope. She had the potential of a wonderful future…if he wasn't there. Damn it all. What was wrong with him? Pursuing her was wrong, so wrong, damning them both to heartache. She deserved a man who would not hurt her, who would not hide anything from her, who would be able to give her everything she wanted. Commitment, children, a future. Damn it. If she had been born when he was done, if she was a mage – _if._ It was such a weighted idea that declared that things would be better, that they could be together – but there was really no guarantee that it would or even could be better.

Solas walked over to an outcropping of rock so that he could set up a more comfortable perch to watch. The Keeper had joined her by the fire and she was currently trying to convince the elder to dance with her and the children. Solas smiled knowing that the Keeper was fighting a futile battle. Miriel was smiling and happy, a sure fire sign that she was about to get her way, especially from someone who already liked her…which was most people.

He resisted laughing when he saw the Keeper stand and walk bashfully to the children who cried and rushed about him. The dancing Keeper was a comical sight, all of his movements jerky and uncoordinated, quite the contrast from Miriel's effortless grace. The clan laughed uproariously as they watched their Keeper dance to the flute. The flutist was having trouble keeping the music going as he wanted to laugh too. Miriel laughed freely, the real music to Solas's ears.

Solas leaned forward, eager to get closer to the sound of Miriel's laugh, when the rock he was perched upon scraped forward as well. He cursed automatically as he righted himself. It was just a softly muttered oath, but he saw Miriel's ears twitch at the sound. Her brow furrowed as she looked in his direction, searching the darkness. Her head cocked to the side and she turned back to the Keeper. She clearly said a few words before disappearing to the other side of camp. Solas frowned, but supposed that she was simply retiring for the night. It was late and she most likely needed rest.

He was about to turn away and head back to the ruin when she reappeared with a plate of food in her hands. She must have gotten hungry, except she wasn't sitting down by the fire. Instead, Miriel was walking out towards the plains, towards where Solas was. He was about to stand up and quietly leave before she reached him, still not ready to talk about what had happened, but she stopped and set the plate down on a tree stump. She made a point of looking out at the rock outcropping he was still at, her eyes almost meeting his. She didn't say a word, just walked back to the fire where she began to dance once more, encouraging the Keeper.

Solas eyed the plate, still hungry after his earlier meal only consisted of dried berries and jerky. After a few minutes, he moved from the rocks and took the plate full of potatoes and hot meat. It smelled wonderful and he ate it quickly, enjoying the seasoning on the potatoes. As he ate, he watched Miriel move in the firelight.

**

Solas spent a week in total in the Exalted Plains, mourning Wisdom. He spent another week travelling back to Skyhold. When he returned to the keep, he was still in mourning. In the times of Arlathan, mourning could go on for years depending on the severity of the loss. Solas would have been expected to wear clean grey clothing for the duration of the mourning, and afterwards, he would burn the clothing as a symbol of acknowledging the departed but releasing the living from their mourning. But he could not mourn for years, two weeks would have to do.

As he walked through the gates of the keep, Miriel walked down the steps leading into the lower part of the courtyard. She saw him and immediately altered her path so she could speak with him. _You are not to pursue or respond to her advances,_ he reminded himself, but he was so exhausted that it was hard to heed even himself.

"Inquisitor," saying her title was also a reminder that he had no business with her.

"How are you, Solas?" She asked, and just like that, with the sound of her voice, temptation returned.

"It hurts. It always does, but I will survive." She stepped closer to him but he turned his head away. He was exhausted and could barely manage his grief for Wisdom, let alone manage his desire for Miriel.

"I am glad you came back," she whispered, and he closed his eyes.

"You were a true friend. You did everything you could to help. I could hardly abandon you now." It was the truth, he couldn't abandon her, not when he knew what he knew about Corypheus. _I couldn't bear the thought of never seeing her again._

"Where did you go?" She asked.

"I found a quiet spot and went to sleep. I visited the place in the Fade where my friend used to be. It's empty, but there are stirrings of energy in the Void. Someday something new may grow there." He hoped a new spirit of Wisdom would form, but in this age…the likelihood of that was slim.

"What happens when a spirit dies?" She asked softly, head slightly cocked to the side.

"It isn't the same as for mortals. The energy of spirits returns to the Fade. If the idea giving the spirit form is strong, or if the memory has shaped other spirits, it may someday rise again." He explained and her face lit up with hope.

"So you're saying your friend might come back?" _If only, lethallan, if only._

"No, not really. A spirit's natural state is a peaceful semi-existence. It is rare to be able to reflect reality. Something similar may reform one day, but it might have a different personality. It would likely not remember me. It would not be the friend I knew." The hope didn't leave her face even as he explained the slim odds. She could see the hope, and he was envious of that.

"The next time you have to mourn, you don't need to be alone."

"It's been so long since I could trust someone." He could feel himself want to give into her, it was an undeniable pull.

"I know." And there it was, understanding even when she didn't have all the information. She didn't know how many times he had been betrayed or led astray, but she didn't need to apparently, she just accepted it and strove to understand as best she could, offering sympathy and compassion as she went.

"I'll work on it. And thank you," she deserved to be thanked and he found himself wanting to be better.

Their eyes met, his were for once unshielded and clearly showed his emotion. Her breath hitched in her throat.

They spent the rest of the day apart. He was still not quite ready to be around people and her job dictated that she had to be around people. When Solas went to his bed that night, it was empty. He sighed but climbed in and fell soundly asleep. Once again he went to the valley his friend spent the majority of its time at. Everything about it was familiar and yet completely different. The breeze that rustled the wild flowers, the green grass…but the feelings of warmth and acceptance radiating from the center were gone. He strode to the Baobab tree, touching its smooth trunk thinking back to the countless times he and Wisdom had spoken by this tree. He had sought its counsel for ages on just about everything, it was one of the few people who was older than him and had offered talk and wisdom without cost. A truer friend than most and more reliable than any parent.

Solas took a deep breath and leaned his forehead against tree. Another person lost to his actions, another friend gone. He had precious few of those now, and even fewer who actually _knew_ about him. He was alone, slowly isolating himself from the world he had created and damned.

The Fade flickered and a sense of alertness filled the forest. Solas lifted his head, brow furrowing at the old indications of an intrusion. It wasn't unusual for demons or even other spirits to try and take over territory after the dissipation of another spirit. _That will not happen here._ There were remnants of Wisdom here, remnants that could one day turn into another spirit of Wisdom, and he would protect those remnants from whatever invader may come.

"Solas?" Miriel's voice was soft and kind as she stepped into the forest. Solas just stared at her, _how did she get here?_

"I-I just wanted to find you. The Fade has become terrifying to me and you make it less terrifying, so I came looking for you…which is rather selfish, now that I think about it. Creators, you want to be alone, I should leave you to be alone." She made to leave but he grabbed her arm.

"Don't leave," he murmured. They held each other's gaze for a few heartbeats, each understanding that neither of them wanted to be alone, not anymore.

"Alright," she said and took his hand. They were silent for the rest of night, holding hands as they felt the cool breeze upon their backs, gazing at the old Baobab tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I received some absolutely wonderful and beautiful words after the last chapter and I just want to thank you from the bottom of my heart - it means so much to me, really. 
> 
> Also, writing fluffy Solas POV during this quest is impossible, so angst here we are.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Please leave kudos and/or comment. :)


	14. Protect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another letter from clan Lavellan arrives

_Da'len,_

_I would not trouble you normally. You have enough on your shoulders, fighting ancient Tevinter magisters while representing your people. Unfortunately, the rifts that plague this land have spread chaos and fear along with them, and many seek to take advantage of it._

_Bandits are attacking Clan Lavellan. The raiders are well armed and heavily armored, and they come in numbers our hunters cannot match. We had settled in a small unclaimed valley not far from Wycome, a safe place with few rifts—but these bandits may force us to seek a new home. If your Inquisition can help, you might save our clan much hardship._

_Dareth shiral,  
Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan_

_**_

_Jester,_

_You are to assist clan Lavellan in any means possible to repel the so called bandits currently attacking them. All lives are valuable, but keep a particular eye on the elves by the names of Rana, Maren, Fenaven, and Theron. They are the Inquisitor’s direct family and should protected at all costs._

_Gather as much information you can on where these bandits are coming from and report as soon as possible._

_Nightingale._

_**_

_Keeper,_

_I have authorized scouts to aid you and the clan. I would send a larger force if I was assured they would reach you in time. As it stands, I already have agents in Wycome who are to assist in creating a distraction so that you can take the clan to the forest. To the trees, ma Amelan._

_Dareth Shiral,_

_Miriel._

_Creators be with you and may the Dread Wolf never hear your footsteps._

_**_

_Maren,_

_Rana, stop reading Maren’s mail. Really, it is between her and me._

_Now, da’Mare, with these bandits I understand that you have been told to remain secret for fear of consequences…but these are extraordinary times. Your life means more than any secret. The promise to stay alive is greater than the one to remain secret. You understand? You stay alive, or I will tear you from Falon’Din’s side personally to scold you._

_Stay alive and stay safe._

_Ar lath ma, da’Mare,_

_Miri._


	15. Talking and Wining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor to Skyhold gives Miriel advice concerning a certain elf. SFW

She stared up at the formidable fortress appropriately dubbed Skyhold and nodded, impressed. Varric’s letter had said it was huge, but man, he didn’t mention that it was _fucking gigantic._ It was half the size of Kirkwall and it was just one fortress! She shook her head in disbelief as she urged her horse over the bridge.

A heavy wind was rolling through the mountain pass, pressing into her, blowing wild hair every which way. While the sun was high and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, winter was here and the cold bit her. These past three years in temperate north eastern Orlais had spoiled her apparently. Instead of sleet and heavy crosswinds, she had indulged in temperate winters with light snowfall. It was all completely intolerable to a certain broody elf who wasn’t all that broody these days, but it was heaven for her.

Skyhold had not been easy to get to from that part of Orlais. For one, there was a civil war in her way and that meant people who needed help. And since when was she ever good at saying “no” to someone’s desperate cry for help? There had been more than one stop, more than one task completed for a helpless civilian caught between two feuding factions. _Some things never change._ At least it wasn’t blood mages or crazy Templars or angry Qunari or slavers or pirates or a demon-summoning noble. Oh wait, no, there was that Lord Coultier who had summoned a Hunger demon to steal from refugees. That had been a pain in the ass to deal with.

But hey! She was here, and the place was _huge._ So much for a stealthy hide away in the mountains, even the wildly stupid Templars in Kirkwall could eventually stumble upon this place. She supposed it served a purpose, a nice recognizable place that screamed “hey you! Refugee! Pilgrim! Whatever the fuck you are, you are welcome here.” It was a good message.

How long was this bridge? Fucking shit.

“Halt!” A guard called from the battlements, “state your name and business!” She sighed and said her actual name formally in years.

“Behold! I am Katra Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall! I got business with a dashing rogue and his crossbow,” her name and title felt clunky after so many years of not being used, but it felt good, like she was shedding years of filth and lies. And okay, she was being a bit dramatic, thrusting her arm out to let her cloak billow in the wind, but with a title like Champion, you had to ham it up sometimes.

The guards looked at each other, dubious, before one of them leaned forward, obviously squinting.

“Aren’t you a little short to be the Champion?”  He asked and she rolled her eyes. For the most part she was glad that Varric had chosen to describe her completely differently in his book since that allowed her to pass through places without being swarmed by people for whatever reasons. But when she needed that title and that recognition, it was bit difficult to come by.

“You know Varric Tethras? If you do, then you can understand that yeah, I am short, he makes everyone sound tall. Probably because he’s a dwarf and all,” she said. The guard still looked unconvinced. It didn’t help that she wasn’t wearing the designated Champion robes and had gone with a more subtle look of normal leather trousers, a nice billowy blouse, and an over-the-bust corset (because breast bands just weren’t enough), all wrapped up in a warm fur-lined cloak.

“If you’re the Champion, prove it,” the guard called down. Katra sighed.

“I wish I was a dragon,” she said and the guard shook his head.

“Everybody knows that.”

“I am in a romantic and very sexual relationship with Fenris, the broody elf.”

“You plucked that straight from the book!”

“If I can’t use references in the book, then how are you going to know if I really am me? Varric is expecting me, and you blokes are making me late.” One of the guards, the one that wasn’t annoying her, ran off while the annoying guard stayed put.

“Jim went to get Varric, you’ll wait here while we get confirmation.”

“What if I was a refugee? Would you make me wait around like this? What if I was dying? Oh Maker! The plague! It has me in its cold, cold, uncaring grip!” She lamented dramatically, huddling inwards and fake coughing.

“Oh shut it, you ain’t sick and you ain’t a refugee either.”

“Really? Oh, you’re right! I’m the fucking Champion of Kirkwall who has business in Skyhold!”

“Not this again.” The guard groaned.

“Do other people come here claiming to be me? Who are these people? Is there a fan club? Can I join it?”

“You want to join a fan club dedicated to you?”

“Well, _yeah_. I am clearly my biggest fan.” She scoffed.

“Oh sweet Maker, what did I do to deserve this?”

“You didn’t let her in, Lemons, that’s why the Maker is punishing you.” A very familiar voice said and Katra craned her neck in attempt to see her favorite dwarf.

“Varric! Can you please tell this fine upstanding idiot that I am indeed the motherfucking Champion of the Shit City known as Kirkwall?” She shouted up to him, though she couldn’t actually see him.

“It’s her, Lemons, now open the gate,” she heard Varric say. The guard harrumphed but did as he was instructed.

“Yeah! Another one for Team Hawke,” wheels grated out high pitched squeals as the gate began to lift. Katra urged her horse through the structure and hopped down once she was in the courtyard. Huh, the place seemed smaller once inside, almost homey. Well, as homey as a giant castle could get, but it was nice – there were vines and stones and little statues, long staircases, and everything. She landed in a mud puddle with a splash as she hopped off her horse.

“I see you’ve gotten over your fear of horses, Hawke,” Varric said, walking happily down from the gatehouse. Katra beamed at her friend and affectionately patted the equine’s behind.

“Gerry here is special. A blood mage summoned a demon that possessed another horse at the stable he was at. Gerry ran, found me and brought me to the scene. There was a battle, blood, Fenris magically fisted the blood mage, and Gerry kicked a Shade in the kisser!”

“Of course this is your horse,” Varric muttered before Katra enveloped him in a tight hug. He hugged her just as firmly.

“I missed you, Varric,” she murmured, smiling into his hair.

“Oh don’t get all sappy on me,” he chastised but she knew he returned her sentiment. They left the embrace a stable boy came up to lead Gerry away. Katra quickly grabbed her pack and turned to the stable boy.

“Give the good fellow some oats and carrots, please. Best damn horse in Thedas,” she instructed and the boy nodded before guiding the noble beast to the stables.

“You look good, Hawke. Life on the road treating you well?” Varric said and Katra smiled.

“Careful Varric, Bianca will get jealous.” She said as they began to walk to the battlements.

“She’ll get over it. But seriously, Broody and the road been treating you well?” He asked and she sighed.

“Wonderfully, actually. I was trying to work the nerve up to ask him if he would like to wear rings to signify our togetherness when I got your letter,” and yes, it was a ‘Ring of Togetherness’ and not marriage. Just like how it wasn’t ‘I love you’ but ‘I am yours’ – it fit them better. Varric stopped walking and closed his eyes, pursing his lips together in a pained expression of guilt.

“Oh stop that, this is not your fault. The world needs heroes right now, and I guess what I did in Kirkwall makes me one.”

“You guess? You’re the only reason Kirkwall didn’t sink into the sea.”

“Have you been reading your own stories again? You know that’s unhealthy,” she teased and he laughed despite himself.

“Dammit Hawke, I’ve missed you.”

“Now look at who’s getting all sappy,” they climbed up the stairs, making their way to a balcony to overlook the courtyard. _Cue flashbacks to responsibility and soul-crushing anxiety about not being able to do anything properly._

“But seriously, you were going to do some sort of…binding thing with Fenris?”

“ _Propose_ some sort of binding thing, and not even binding just…signaling, really, to others. You would not believe how many people throw themselves at that man. One man actually dropped his drawers in front of him and proclaimed ‘I am yours’ in the middle of a Nevarran town square.” The wind was just a gentle breeze here, blowing back her wild, red, and very Ferelden curls.

“Now you’re just making shit up.” Varric leaned against the half-wall, eying a bottle of wine at the other end of the balcony.

“Isn’t that what you do?” She asked and he shook his head.

“But my shit sounds better and more believable, your face doesn’t carry bullshit well enough.” She gasped and leaned back in mock horror, touching her chest for emphasis as her face fell.

“Are you insulting my bullshitting capabilities? Oh Master Tethras I am _affronted_! I will have you know that I once bullshitted so hard and so righteously that I lived in a Templar martial ruled city as an apostate for seven years and was never arrested for apostasy!” She proudly declared. She of course was arrested for other things during that time (more of a lesson from Aveline, actually), but really, Meredith never once tried to get her for apostasy. More evidence the woman was bat shit crazy.

“She has a point Varric,” a new voice said. Katra turned to see an elven woman smiling and walking down to the balcony. She was…really pretty, like annoyingly pretty. Her hair was this beautiful, naturally shiny gold that fell in soft waves just past her shoulders, even with the shaved sides. Her skin was a light golden brown that seemed to glow in the afternoon sun, and her golden eyes just outright sparkled with beauty. By the Vallaslin and tattoos on her arm, she was Dalish, and the muscles on her arms indicated that she was skilled with a longbow – a Hunter then. And not just any Dalish Hunter with gorgeous hair, eyes, skin, and an impressive rack – the Inquisitor.

“Ah, Buttercup I would like you to meet Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall,” Varric said in a grand attempt to introduce the two women.

“Wait, _she_ gets a nickname but not me? What the shit, man?”

“I did give you a nickname! Chuckles, remember?”

“I thought Chuckles was Solas’s nickname,” the elf interjected. Katra balked at them.

“You gave my nickname to a guy named Solas?!”

“When you meet him, you’ll understand why it’s so funny,” Varric tried to explain but Katra just held up a hand.

“This hurts, Varric. I am very much hurt right now,” okay, so she was being inappropriately dramatic. Sure, but that was half of her charm. It drove Fenris crazy, usually in the good way that lead to her smalls on the floor…or she was, it really depended on the situation.

“Hawke, I know you’re having a moment, but you know this is kind of serious,” Varric tried coaxing her back to reality and she allowed it.

“Fine, but he better be the funniest damn elf named Pride I have ever met,” she groused and the woman dubbed Buttercup did a double take.

“You…know elven?” She asked and Katra shrugged.

“Merrill is one of my closest friends and she was her clan’s First. She often called spirits or demons by their names in elven. She brought ‘Solas’ up sometimes and had to clarify it as ‘Pride.’”

“Well, Solas, the elf, is very witty and has a delightful laugh, so he is deserving of the nickname.” The elf clarified.

Katra snorted, “Good. Now, a proper introduction. I am, as our illustrious bullshitting dwarf said, Katra Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall.” She stuck her hand out, a large smile on her face.

“Inquisitor Miriel Lavellan, it is an honor to meet you,” Lavellan took Katra’s hand with an equally wide smile.

“Ah, you don’t have to lie,” Katra said, for once actually being honest.

“Oh no, really. I read the book and everything, what you did in Kirkwall was amazing. Keeping the city together for that long,” the elf gushed and Katra rolled her eyes and sighed. Oh boy.

“The book is bullshit, it didn’t happen like that, and no I did not rip the arms off of an ogre. But let’s not talk about that. I hear you have an evil darkspawn magister on your hands that was once on mine. Funny, could have sworn I killed the bugger,” Katra leaned over the half-wall, looking down at the bustling courtyard of people. Shuffling feet and a scratching noise told her that Varric was moving away.

“I will let you two discuss this then, Wicked Grace later, Hawke?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Varric,” she replied. Lavellan then joined her by the half-wall, but she didn’t lean, just crossed her arms and stared at her people biting her lip.

“So, Corypheus?” Katra asked once Varric was out of earshot.

“Yes, Corypheus, he attacked Haven with an army of red lyrium addled Templars and what appears to be an Archdemon.” Katra’s eyebrows shot up.

“Well…shit.” It was time to sober up and be serious, unfortunately.

“He claims to be one of the original magisters who entered the Fade.” Lavellan sighed and ran a hand through her hair. It was then that Katra noticed the bags under the elf’s eyes, the tense set of her shoulders and the patchy lips indicating that her lip biting was a nervous gesture that she did…a lot.

“Sounds like the deluded darkspawn we found in that prison. Corypheus was locked up in this ancient Warden prison that was sealed with blood magic. The only way to free him was to use the blood of the mage who renewed the seal; that mage was my father but he died. Since I share his blood, along with my brother, our blood could work to break the seal. Corypheus somehow managed to take over the minds of an entire carta clan, who then came after us. Long story short, I accidentally freed him when we investigated, and when he awoke he was very confused. He said he was a priest of Dumat, claimed to be one of the original Magisters, and at the time I wrote it off as insanity, he is a darkspawn after all.” Katra explained, still doubting that the creature she had found all those years ago could be up and…floating or walking or however he moved.

“Yeah but he is still making those claims and the more I think about it, the lyrium, the dragon, Corypheus…it makes sense. Strange, almost impossible sense, but sense.” Lavellan responded and Katra sighed, shaking her head.

“More and more impossible things are making sense these days, makes you think about what that could mean.” Katra supposed. Lavellan gave a nervous laugh.

“It means that the world is shifting, and we may need to readjust what we think sense is.” The elf said.

“Oh shut up, Miss ‘I’m so wise’, you’ll make the rest of us look like idiots.” Katra teased. Seriously, what was with the whole wise thing? Where was _this_ mindset when Kirkwall was going to shit and people were losing their fucking minds?

“You are hardly an idiot.” _Then explain why I’m here, and not in Kirkwall with an intact chantry._ Katra sighed and turned to look out at Skyhold.

“I had a balcony like this. I loved it at first, but then every time I would go out on it, I would just see all the reminders of the immense responsibility I had to Kirkwall, to its people.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Lavellan replied.

“But now I realize I had it easy with just one city, you have all of southern Thedas.” That kind of pressure stress could not be good for the skin. Katra glanced at the elf. _Woman has perfect skin…I hate her._

Lavellan snorted, “Oh no pressure then.”

“Because of Corypheus’s darkspawn nature and all the red lyrium about, I took the liberty of contacting an old Grey Warden friend of mine, see what help he could offer. He is currently hiding out in Crestwood, apparently something is going on with the Wardens that has forced him to go into hiding. I’m heading out there tomorrow, meet us out there?”

“Sounds like a good idea, I will head out there as soon as possible.”

“Good, I was hoping you’d say that, now if you don’t mind me, I am going to go find a way to get a bath and scrub two weeks of grime off.” Lavellan laughed then called over a nearby servant.

“Take Hawke to my quarters and draw a bath for her please, and while you are in my quarters, go through my left bedside table and take five silver pieces. Thank you,” the servant curtsied gratefully and turned to Hawke.

“This way, my lady.” Katra smiled, impressed again with the Inquisitor. _No wonder you stayed, Varric, she’s a good egg._ She followed the maid through the keep, still marveling at the size and architecture. She found herself curious as to where Varric had gotten himself to; she would find out later, she really wanted that bath.

**

Katra lied languidly in the tub, enjoying the hot water and bubbles. She had a maid bring up a bottle of wine earlier, tipping the woman gratefully. The wine was absolutely divine and it helped Katra remember the important things in the world. Wine, baths…wine in a bath accompanied by a naked, lyrium tattooed elf. She sighed, missing Fenris. She missed his butt and his ears…and his voice, his unique thoughts on how the world worked. She missed falling asleep on his chest and how he somehow always knew what she meant even when she was being unclear and overly sarcastic or admittedly an ass. Maker, it had only been two weeks and she missed him like she had during those three dark years.

Katra allowed herself to stew in her negative emotions for another minute before focusing on the tasks at hand. Tomorrow she would head to Crestwood and from there…well, whatever Stroud needed she would do.

The door opened downstairs and she heard the quick paced pitter patter of feet coming up the stairs. Katra remained in the tub with her glass of red, waiting for the maid or other servant to stumble upon her indisposed state. As expected the elven girl nearly dropped what appeared to be freshly washed and dried clothes when she saw Katra in the tub.

“Hi,” Katra said and the young girl stuttered.

“My sincerest apologies, my lady, I did not realize-

“Oh don’t worry about it, I need to get up and dressed anyways. Would you mind helping me? I was thinking I would actually dress nicely for dinner tonight and I can’t put a corset on by myself.” Katra rose from the tub and grabbed a nearby towel, totally uncaring about displaying her nude body.

“Uh, yes, my lady, of course,” the girl set the clothes down and went to assist Katra, first by taking the empty wine glass and then going through her bags. “Um…none of the clothes are clean, mistress.”

“Pease call me Katra, or Hawke if you prefer. And seriously? Then um…I don’t suppose there are any clothes I could borrow?” This was embarrassing, but not totally unforeseen.

“Yes, Lady Montilyet has a closet for the visiting dignitaries, I will bring a selection of dresses back promptly.” The girl said before slipping back down the stairs. Katra grabbed a blanket off the bed and wrapped herself in it to keep herself warm as she waited for the girl.

The servant returned with several options and Katra ended up going with a nice navy number with a low-cut front. She wasn’t going to look this good forever, might as well flaunt it. Though flaunting her assets was not nearly as fun since her broody elf was not here to tempt and tease.

The girl was very efficient in clothing Katra, much more efficient than Fenris and his wandering hands and lips.

“There is a necklace in my pack, could you put it on, please?” Katra asked and the girl complied. When the girl fastened the long necklace around Katra’s necklace, Katra smiled happily and touched the tiny lyrium bead glistening in the middle of the otherwise simple silver chain. The necklace had been Fenris’s gift to her after being together for a year. She had given him the finest, oldest Antivan red wine she could find. She bought a newer one that they ceremoniously threw into the fire. They had made love all night…vigorously, athletically, lovingly.

The girl moved away from Katra to put away the clothes she had originally brought up. Katra looked at herself in the mirror, pleased at the figure flattering dress and softly glowing necklace. But her hair was still wet and lank, so she dried her hair with a spell she and Bethany figured out when they were younger. Soon her hair was all copper bouncy curls that she pinned back with a couple of silver pins.

She looked out the window, trying to judge the time. The sun was just about set and she figured that she was most likely late for dinner. With a shrug she unhurriedly made her way down to the main hall. Groups of people parted for her as she walked confidently, though she really didn’t know where she was going. She took an educated guess and followed a group of happy off-duty inquisition soldiers towards what seemed to be a tavern. She entered the building and all the whispers and raucous laughter hushed swiftly and rather awkwardly as she just stood there.

_News spreads fast around here,_ she thought, standing there looking for Varric or Lavellan. Nobody else actually knew her here, so they all expected the Champion. They expected a woman who could walk into a room and right all the wrongs, fix all of the people. They didn’t know her, they just knew of the deeds, or really supposed deeds, she had done. It was alienating, and she hated it. There were few people in the world who really knew Hawke, and she knew that none of them were in that quiet tavern.

“Times are a changing, folks, best prepare yourselves,” she left the building, feeling their eyes glued to her back, watching her every step. She did not step prettily or keep her back straight like she had done for years in Kirkwall, instead she just walked normally and tiredly back to the Inquisitor’s quarters. She trudged up the stairs, and found Lavellan half-naked in the corner.

“Oh, naked woman! I must avert my eyes!” Katra playfully ducked her head and turned around to give the Inquisitor privacy. She heard a snort.

“Oh please, growing up Dalish you quickly learn that privacy is indeed a privilege.” Katra heard the rustle of fabric, “you can turn around, now, I’m decent…well, as decent as I will ever be.” She turned to see that Lavellan had changed out of a loose cream colored tunic and into a longer, warmer burgundy one. She had also let her blond hair down, almost completely disguising the shaved sides.

“I was going to join you for dinner, but your keep is large and-

“Yeah, Skyhold is huge, easy to get lost. You can walk with me then, meet my friends, catch up with Varric.” Lavellan waved her off.

“Not going to ask me to regale you with wild stories of my heroism and bravery?” Katra asked sarcastically and Lavellan laughed.

“Well if you do that, when will there be time for my wild stories of heroism and bravery?” Katra laughed and the two women made their way downstairs and into the small dining off of the kitchen. An eclectic group including a giant Qunari, a Vint, a man with a very impressive beard, an elf with fuzz for hair, and tall bald elf. _Ah, another broody elf!_ But no Varric. Katra sighed but composed herself into the ever polite Hawke.

“Varric should be here soon, he was just finishing up some business,” the Vint said.

“Probably polishing Bianca!” The Qunari guffawed, slamming a half-full tankard on the wooden table.

“Must you be so crass?” The brooding elf sighed, sipping his glass of water.

“Must you be a fucking killjoy?” The elf scowled so deeply Katra thought he would leave permanent lines behind then and there. Katra laughed heartily.

“Crass language is just honesty that hasn’t been prettied up,” she stated walking besides Lavellan. She sat next to the brooding elf, sinking delightfully into the chair next to him. Katra noted that the scowl lightened on Scowly, _ooooh how interesting._ Katra sat next to Lavellan, only now noticing just how short Lavellan was…especially compared to Scowly…who was seriously tall for an elf.

“I like the way you think, Hawke!” The Qunari laughed.

“I get that a lot, so, Inquisitor, care to introduce me so I can stop referring to your friends as Horny, Scowly, Fuzzy, Beardy, and Vinny?” Horny laughed so loud all she heard was his voice but from the shaking shoulders and open mouths, Vinny and Fuzzy were also laughing rather heartily. She glanced over and saw that even Scowly’s mouth had let up into almost a neutral position!

“Oh introduce you so you can swoop in and replace me? Not happening.” Lavellan scoffed playfully.

“Oh yes, swooping! I hear that’s bad.” Katra said dramatically.

“The worst,” Lavellan poured wine for her and Katra, a vintage red, _good taste._ “Anyways, Horny as you so aptly named him is the Iron Bull, commander of Bull’s Chargers.”

“I’ve heard of you, damn good company you run.”

“You’re right to be worried about the swooping, boss, Hawke is a smart woman,” Katra preened at Bull’s words.

“There shall be no swooping!” Lavellan chortled, “Fuzzy is Sera, a Friend of Red Jenny of Val Rayoux. Vinny is Dorian Pavus, son of Magister Pavus and-

“A great disappoint to my parents,” Dorian raised an eyebrow and raised his wine before taking a large sip.

“A disappoint, really? With that mustache?” Katra asked incredulous.

“I know, such a tragedy that it must go unappreciated here in the South.”

“You know true hardship,” the table had another giggle, then Lavellan finally gestured towards Scowly with a small smile.

“And this is Solas, my advisor on all things Fade and Breach related.” The elven woman sounded particularly proud as she introduced Scowly. The elven woman’s eyes grew soft as she turned to the man and Katra knew immediately what was going on. _Ah the irresistible charm of brooding elves._

“Ah, Solas. Scowly Solas, I do love me some good alliteration.”

“It is certainly an honor to meet the Champion of Kirkwall,” Scowly Solas gave her a polite smile, a smile that Katra did not return.

“Oh please, I haven’t been the Champion in years, and I prefer to keep it that way. I am Katra Hawke, apostate and force mage extraordinaire.”

“Ah don’t tell me that Chuckles here brought up the title.” Varric entered the room, leaning against the doorframe. Somewhat liquored up, Katra stood up and rushed over to the dwarf where she enveloped him in a tight hug.

 “How much wine have you had?” Varric leaned back from the hug, eyebrows going up as he scented the alcohol on her breath.

“I’m fine, just tipsy. Fenris and I are together, I have the tolerance of a giant.” Sure she was a little off kilter, but that was nothing compared to the kind of drunk she could get with Fenris.

“I heard you calling Chuckles ‘Scowly.’ Your nicknaming skills are improving.”

“I learned from the best.” She complimented him and he shook his head as they sat at the table.

“Hey, she’s pretty good, Varric, pinned me with Horny.” Varric laughed. For the first time in months, Katra felt good, like she didn’t have to be the Champion, even though the world was going to shit. But in the back of her mind she still missed him, missed her own broody elf with smoldering eyes and the most delightful sense of humor. Watching Lavellan moon over her broody elf was like watching a younger version of herself, right when she was realizing she wanted Fenris for more than just his body.

Dinner continued for hours with laughter and banter. Katra enjoyed herself and it was wonderful to be actually talking to Varric instead of just writing to him. She wished the whole group was here (even Anders would have had a nice time, him and Scowly would probably wax on about the plight of mages). Isabela and Bull would be such fast friends they would have to leave the room, and Merrill would’ve been smitten with Blackwall. Dorian would have flirted with Sebastian until Sebastian blushed so hard he passed out. Solas and Fenris wouldn’t talk but would quietly sit next to each other in companionable broody silence. Aveline and Cassandra would get along great…if Cassandra was present, which she wasn’t, but no one else questioned it, so Katra didn’t.

Solas was the first to excuse himself from the table, he rose and was about to leave without a word when Lavellan touched his arm.

“Good night,” she whispered, and then Scowly did something quite unexpected. He genuinely smiled.

“Peaceful dreams, lethallan,” he murmured back to her. Her broad smile remained even when Scowly had left the room. _Oh you poor thing, you are completely smitten with him!_ After seeing the exchange, Katra decided that Lavellan needed a good heart to heart on romancing a broody man elf with commitment issues.

“Lavellan, this dinner has been wonderful, but I was hoping we could speak in private about savior business, hero to hero, you know.” Varric nodded knowingly, _Maker, bless that dwarf for understanding every damn nuance._

“Oh of course, good night!” There was a chorus of good nights. Katra made sure to grab a bottle of wine before the women made their way to Lavellan’s quarters once more. Once there, Lavellan turned to Katra confused.

“What is it you need to discuss in the middle of the night?” Katra uncorked the wine and grabbed two glasses off of Lavellan’s desk.

“Men! What else?” Lavellan rolled her eyes.

“Oh, are you my sister now, here to tell me who I should pass time with and who I should not?” Katra snorted as she poured the wine and handed Lavellan a glass.

“Maker, no! I am here to help you snag that piece of broody man elf ass, and seeing as I am fluent in broody man elf speak, I am very much qualified to help.”

“What?!” Lavellan squeaked. Katra sighed and smiled at the young woman.

“Oh I saw you and Solas making eyes at each other. You were very open about it, not caring about how obvious you were with your feelings for him while he was very sneaky about his heated glances. I saw them because I knew what to look for, Fenris used to do the same thing, glance at me as if picturing me naked and writhing when he thought I wouldn’t notice,” Katra giggled, “silly man, should have known I noticed everything about his broody ass.” Lavellan was stunned for second, but she quickly regained herself.

“Solas doesn’t look at me like that, he’s just naturally intense-

“Oh, honey, he does look at you like that. He does want you, but because he is a broody man elf with commitment issues, he doesn’t know what, or want, to do anything about it.” Lavellan looked at the floor, shuffling her feet a bit before mumbling.

“He kissed me.” Katra gasped then guided the mumbling woman to sit on the bed.

“Tell me everything!” Katra pressed and Lavellan smiled girlishly.

“I really shouldn’t…he is a rather private person.” Lavellan worried her bottom lip, conflicted at talking about her burgeoning pseudo relationship. Katra shrugged and leaned back.

“I won’t tell, I am great at keeping secrets. And besides, the more information I have, the better I can help you. I am not here to laugh at him, just to help you. I was in your shoes once, well…figuratively anyways,” Katra smiled kindly. Contrary to popular belief, not everything was a joke to her and since leaving Kirkwall and taking time for herself, she learned that she didn’t have to constantly shield herself from people by using deflective humor.

“I…well…it was in the Fade,” the elf said bashfully, not meeting Katra’s eyes. Katra could see that small smile on the elf’s face, though, and knew that she was remembering the kiss.

“The Fade?” Katra asked but then shrugged before Lavellan could answer, “different strokes for different folks.”

“It was…incredibly intimate, and Creators, the man was passionate. Dammit, I need to respect his privacy.”

“Yes, yes, deny your needs for a man, women do it all the time,” Katra rolled her eyes.

“It is…different for us.”

“There is an ‘us’?”

“Well…no.”

“And why is that?”

“Because he…he thinks that getting into a relationship will be trouble and he said he needed time. He also called the kiss ill-advised.” Lavellan pouted and Katra felt for her, really she did. Being given a taste and then having it yanked away without any resolution in sight was…it was unpleasant to say the least.

“Alright, how did you respond?”

“I brought up how he kissed me back, twice. Then he said that he needed time to think about it.”

“And how long has it been?” She prodded. Lavellan looked downtrodden and upset.

“Almost a month.” Katra clicked her tongue.

“Foolish man, probably has forgotten the actual taste of your mouth by now.” Lavellan’s eyes went wide, Katra quickly placed a hand on her arm to console her, “meaning that he probably has altered the memory to either have the taste of your mouth be the most exquisite and intoxicating flavor he has ever experienced in his life, or…or he has figured it to be uneventful, but judging by the way he looked at you tonight…I am willing to bet a hundred gold on him not being able to go an hour without thinking about that kiss.”

“How did you do this with Fenris? I am grasping at straws at what to do here.” Lavellan said frustrated.

“I went crazy for a bit, especially when he pulled that whole ‘let’s have some really hot and intense sex then I am going to leave and not follow through because I remembered who I was before I was a lyrium branded slave.’ It calms down eventually.” Katra made sure her tone was as reassuring as possible, but in truth she was dearly hoping that Solas would not pull the crap that Fenris had. Sure, they ended up with each other in the end, but it was absolute hell getting there, and Lavellan didn’t deserve that.

“But when does that happen? This world makes no sense. In the clan it was different. Courtship made sense, one party would hunt dinner for the other and then you would talk. But with Solas…I feel like I am way out of my depth. I want him to know how I feel, and I want him to feel the same, but I don’t…what…I am too Dalish for this world.” Lavellan said quietly, her tone growing sad and confused. Katra knew vaguely what Lavellan was going through, Merrill had a hard time adjusting to a non-Dalish life at first as well. _Where is the camaraderie? In the clan we protected all…why isn’t it like that here?_ But while Merrill had been surprised at the lack of connection between the city dwellers, Lavellan just didn’t know how to socially navigate around this odd world.

“Look, don’t use Fenris and me as a perfect model. Seriously, don’t. He waited three years before telling me how he felt, and while we are together now, we still have issues. Some days he calls me ‘mage’ because the memories torment him. Sometimes I can’t communicate properly with him because of bad humor or…well, there are just some bad days.”

“Yes, but at least he expresses his emotions somehow. Solas is always annoyingly polite and calm,” Katra gave Lavellan a sympathetic look.

“What I have learned is that when someone doesn’t know what they want or how to properly express what they want, or even that it is remotely fine for them to want something, they need time. Lots and lots of time to mentally work through it. What Solas may need is time to get through any mental obstacles he has set up that prevent him from pursuing you. If he is as a private a man as you say he is, there may be something in his past that is still affecting him now, something that is preventing him from saying ‘yes’ to you when he clearly wants to.” Katra took a generous swig of her wine and Lavellan blinked and leaned back as she contemplated Katra’s words.

“And you say you’re not wise. Why did Fenris stay away all those years? You are obviously a catch.” Lavellan refilled her strangely empty glass.

“Oh, you’re so sweet, and yes I am quite the catch,” Katra paused and took a large sip from her glass, “Fenris stayed away all those years in part because he believed that I was better off with someone other than him. He thought that he was too damaged, too broken to be good to me. He didn’t want to hurt me anymore than he already had.” This time Lavellan gave Katra a sympathetic look.

“Why are broody man elves such idiots?” She asked and Katra laughed and shrugged.

“I have no idea! Don’t they know of the incredible healing powers of our love?” Lavellan threw her hands in the air, almost sloshing the remaining wine in her glass all over the place.

“Don’t they know we can totally fix all of their issues and fill the gaping hole in their soul with love and happiness and-

“Amazing ass!” They two women laughed heartily. “Seriously, Lavellan, your ass is amazing.” Katra took a healthy (or not so healthy) sip of her wine.

“ _Your_ ass is the amazing one.” Lavellan insisted, her speech slurred.

“No, my ass is wide and flat. My hips and waist are amazing, but my ass is just average. Your ass however is round and perky and _bam_!” Lavellan blushed, “oh don’t be shy! You should flaunt that butt, I bet Solas would appreciate it.” Katra wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. Her head moved more than she was expecting, but then her eyes noticed that her glass and the bottle were empty.

“Oh would you look at that, we drank it all.” Katra commented, slightly stunned.

“That doesn’t bode well for the morning,” they laughed some more.

“Oh Lavellan, tonight has been wonderful!”

“You know, Hawke, after tonight, you can call me Miriel.”

“If I can call you Miriel, you can call me Katra.” Katra looked around, her vision blurry, “well, shit. Would it be terrible form to sleep in your bed tonight?” She looked at Miriel who was wavering slightly.

“Go for it, I am. The bed’s big, so big, why did they get such a big bed for such a small person?”

“I dunno, rich people are like that. The bigger the better.”

“You know it.”

“You bet.” They settled into the bed, unchanged from their clothes and on top of the covers, and promptly fell asleep.

**

Morning brought puking and a hangover the size of Skyhold for two of the most powerful women in Thedas. _Oh you know what they say, puke together, stay together,_ Katra thought as she sat on the cold floor with her new friend Bucket. Miriel was the on the end of the small room with her own Bucket.

“I feel disgusting,” Miriel murmured. Katra flinched.

“Shhh, no talking.” They stayed there for a bit until Miriel moaned and leaned over her bucket.

“I think I have to puke again.” She wavered over the bucket, then leaned back, “nope, false alarm.”

“Fenris didn’t train me hard enough.” Katra lurched over the bucket, but only a half-assed burp came out. _There’s nothing in my stomach, thank the Maker._

“I haven’t been trained at all…”

“Consider this your first session.”

“…so when do we get off the floor?” Katra closed her eyes and willed the dizziness to go away.

“I made a hangover recovery spell the first time Fenris and I drank together.” Katra whispered.

“Oh yes, a spell.”

“I need tea…and lyrium.” Her mouth was so dry, how did it get so dry when she was puking up so much liquid? _Stupid body, it should hold its liquor better._

“I have…neither. I…hate tea.” Lavellan groaned. Katra winced.

“Who doesn’t like tea?” She asked, confounded by the idea. There’s a tea for everyone, they just had to search for it. She had even gotten Fenris on board with tea.

“I am not partial to it either.” A man’s voice, a _loud_ man’s voice said those words. Both women cringed from the loudness.

“Shhhhh, Solas,” Miriel whispered, huddling closer to her bucket.

“This is rather undignified, Inquisitor.” Solas said, but he abided by the women and lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Yes, Scowly, bring me some tea and lyrium. Please, for the good of all.” Solas gave a low chuckle that elicited moans from both women.

“I shall return promptly with your tea and lyrium.” Solas left the two women to huddle around their buckets.

“I like your elf.” Katra whispered.

“I like him too.” Miriel whispered back. Despite the nausea and headache Katra was sure Miriel was smiling.

It was several minutes, but eventually Solas returned with a teapot and potion.

“Bless you,” Katra gasped as she took the items. She drank the potion as quickly as she could, then murmured an incantation over the tea. Her hands glowed briefly as did the tea. Solas handed her a couple of cups. Katra poured herself a cup then handed one to Miriel. Miriel grimaced as she smelled the tea.

“Drink it…drink it for your head and your stomach,” Katra said as she drank the tea in one big gulp. The spell had cooled the tea so it didn’t hurt and soon her headache was easing off and the nausea abated. Miriel took a deep breath and drank the tea like she was taking a shot. She coughed and sputtered but she sighed as the spell worked.

“You are a miracle worker, Katra, thank you.” Miriel tried to stand up then thought better of it and sat back down.

“Yeah not that much of a miracle worker, give it a bit more time.”

“I will tell your advisors that you are indisposed then and will probably need the day off.” Solas said nicely.

“Ma serannas, lethallin.” Miriel and Solas’s eyes met, and Katra saw the love there. _Wow, he is resisting her HARD, but why?_ Katra examined Solas, trying to see if there were any disfiguring scars that would indicate a brutal past, but he covered himself modestly and she could only see his hands, head, and feet. She tried to think of reasons why he could be resisting the beautiful, funny, and utterly compelling Miriel of clan Lavellan, but she could not think of a reason good enough. She would not allow foolish titles to get in their way, and she didn’t care about him being an apostate because of the whole Dalish thing. _Then what in the Maker’s name is keeping this foolish, foolish man from this wonderful woman?_

Solas left with a smile on his face, leaving a smile on Miriel’s. Katra sighed.

“You two have got it bad,” Katra exaggerated a grimace and Miriel gave a half-hearted laugh.

“Yeah, we do.”

**

Several hours later, after getting cleaned up and eating, Katra was saddling up her horse to ride out to Crestwood. Varric and Miriel were there to see her off.

“I will be seeing you two soon in Crestwood. Don’t wait too long, I hear some serious shit is going on out there.” She strapped her luggage to her horse, and the horse grunted in reply.

“I am hoping to leave in the next four to five days, so I will be there in a week.” Katra nodded.

“Good, bring Varric please, I don’t see enough of him.” Varric rolled his eyes.

“I’m right here, Hawke. Does Fenris know you’re here?” Katra nodded.

“Mmmhmmm,” she hummed and Varric threw his hands up.

“Dammit, Hawke, you two are the most dysfunctional couple I know.” Katra rolled her eyes.

“He wanted to come but you said there was red lyrium, I wasn’t about to take a chance with him and that.” She explained and he shook his head.

“Let me guess, he didn’t take that well.”

“He knows I am here…he just may not have actually seen me go?” Her statement came out as more a question.

“So you took off in the middle of the night without so much as a goodbye? Hawke,” he said patronizingly.

“Stop it, Varric…please.” She broke out the p-word as a last ditch attempt to change the subject.

“Fine, but I want to hear the story at some point.” He gave her a pointed look and she caved.

“Ugh, alright. I will tell you after Fenris and I make up, I want to give you a happy ending.” Katra then turned to Miriel and smiled before hugging the woman tightly and whispering in her ear. “Flirt mercilessly with him, make him regret not pursuing you. And for Maker’s sake, flaunt that ass; I know an ass-man when I see one.” Miriel laughed and hugged her new friend back.

“Thanks, and write to Fenris, tell him where you are. You two love each other, it’ll be fine,” Katra smiled and her eyes misted over. _I sure hope so, Miriel._

Katra Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall and supporter of the Mage Rebellion rode out of Skyhold, confident that Thedas was in good hands and that she had done the Inquisition a service by not becoming Inquisitor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this chapter. Katra is ridiculous and a nice palate cleanser from Miriel and Solas (I still love them, but it's good to mix it up a bit). 
> 
> THANK YOU to all of you who have stayed with the story, coming back week after week. High-five to all of the people who leave kudos and a big ol' hug for you wonderful reviewers. You make my day, and many times my week. Thank you <3


	16. Like An Old Novel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miriel arrives back from Crestwood to be thrown into preparations for Halamshiral. SFW

** Like An Old Novel **

They had to get to the Western Approach as soon as possible. Miriel’s plan was to quickly restock in Skyhold, rest for two days and then march back out. There was something going down with the Wardens that was bad, _really_ bad and it needed to be shut down, _fast._ Miriel sighed, _can anyone function without me stepping in and saving their arses?_ It was good to see Katra of course, but the news Stroud brought was awful. _Even good things have bad things attached to them these days._

She may have orchestrated a two day turn around, but Miriel was exhausted from riding out to Crestwood, saving the town from their undead, fighting a fucking a dragon, and racing back to Skyhold. She wanted to sleep the first day back but as soon as she stepped into the Great Hall Josephine, Leliana, and an unidentified elderly woman with a tape measure and a pen swarmed her.

“Thank the Maker you’re back! The Orlesian peace talks are in ten days and we need to prepare you.” Josephine was saying as they walked through the hall.

“Prepare me for what? Negotiation?” Miriel grumbled as she was herded towards her quarters.

“The ball, Inquisitor! An Orlesian masquerade at the Winter Palace in Halamshiral is not an event to be taken lightly, you must prepare. Do you know how to waltz or do a box trot?” Miriel paused and looked quizzically at her advisor. _Has the world gone so mad that boxes now trot?_

“I have no idea what you just said.” She said and Josephine gave an exasperated sigh as she ushered Miriel up the stairs to her quarters.

“They are formal dances for the ball that you have to attend to prevent the assassination of Empress Celene, Inquisitor! And you need to know how to perform those dances to avoid court disapproval. We already face a challenge because of your elven heritage-

“Racist arse biscuits.” Miriel mumbled, earning a gasp of distaste from the elderly woman. “ _Ir abelas, hahren,_ ” there she apologized. Josephine clicked her tongue in disapproval.

“You have been spending too much time with Sera. Anyways, we have enough of a challenge with your elven heritage, we do not need the challenge of you being inept at navigating the political and social scene.” Miriel had to resist groaning at Josephine’s chastising.

“Look Josie, I just got back and we need to get out to the Western Approach, and I need to rest before the trip.” _Let me sleep, let me sleep, please, just let me sleep._ They reached her room and she stared at her bed longingly.

“You cannot go to the Western Approach right now, you must prepare.” Josephine insisted. Miriel rolled her eyes, _I get the gist._

“The Grey Wardens are cooking up something evil in the Western Approach, we need to go there.” Miriel argued. Surely her advisors would understand the importance of stopping the Grey Wardens from whatever it was they were doing.

“Not before saving Orlais. Remember, if Celene falls, Corypheus wins. You have to go the ball, and _therefore you must prepare_. Now stand still and let the seamstress measure you for your dress.” Apparently that settled the argument because soon Miriel was corralled into lifting her arms and standing straight up. The elderly woman then huffed and puffed around Miriel as she inspected her.

“You need to take your breast band off, you won’t be wearing one with the dress and I need an accurate measurement of your bust.” The woman then began removing Miriel’s tunic and breast band.

“Okay, sure, disrobe me,” she muttered and Josie ticked her tongue. “You can’t beat the sarcasm out of me, my Keeper tried and failed.” Miriel then stood in the middle of her room topless and exposed before a scowling seamstress.

“We are going to have to cover the tattoos, and you are muscular. Too muscular for a proper lady.” _We would all be dead if I wasn’t muscular, gas-bag._

“Oh well it works out because I’m not actually a lady but a Hunter.” Miriel smiled menacingly at the seamstress.

“But you must appear the diplomatic lady at the Ball. Leliana, Vivienne, Dorian, and myself already have garments made and ready to attend, that leaves you, Cassandra, Varric –

“Solas will need robes, not just garments, and they should be simple in elegance. No ruffles or jewels or ridiculous embroidery.” Miriel said. There was no way she was braving the Winter Palace as the only non-servant elf, nope, not doing that. The seamstress gave a disgruntled grunt at not being allowed to over embellish a set of robes.

“Very well, we will have those made. You there, fetch a seamstress, find Solas and have her begin work on these robes, and tell the seamstress _exactly_ what the Inquisitor just said.” Josephine was clearly in extreme management mode, complete with the _Don’t Question Me_ tone of voice.

Miriel turned to one of the many servants in the room, “Tell Bull, Solas, and Cassandra that we are not going to the Western Approach after all because of the impending peace talks. Then find Cullen, tell him to send out two well-armed and seasoned patrols to the Western Approach to get a foothold.” The servant gave a slight bow with a “yes, your Worship” before quickly leaving. Miriel took a deep breath, bracing herself before turning to Josephine.

“Josephine, tell me everything I need to know about the court.” Josephine nodded and began to list off important dignitaries and their importance to the court.

**

The sun had set by the time Josephine and her accompanying hoard left Miriel’s quarters. Nobody had brought Miriel supper, so while her exhaustion was a three ton boulder on top of her, her hunger was a four ton boulder that needed to be addressed sooner. Her hair was a mess that she had pulled into a pony tail, and she was sure she stank with fresh and stale sweat, but she didn’t care. If the men around Skyhold walked around smelling like halla pens, she could do too.

Skyhold was mostly quiet by this time in the day, or rather night. The soldiers were holed up in the tavern, the maids were done with their cleaning rounds and only the scullions were in the kitchens, cleaning and putting things away after the cooks had left. Miriel walked into the kitchen, startling those scullions.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t get supper and was hoping there was some bread or soup or something left over.” Miriel muttered as she tried to find where the bread was kept. She was rummaging through the shelves for a minute before the oldest scullion tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around to see the boy holding a small loaf of bread.

“Oh thank you.” She said as she took the loaf.

“It’s all that’s left, today was turn around day. Most of the old bread had started to mold,” the boy then reached over and opened a cupboard full of cheeses. He grabbed a small cheese wedge, closed then cupboard then grabbed a basket off of a shelf. He put the cheese in the basket and then handed it to Miriel.

“Mam says you like the light cheeses and that you never eat your sharp, but you don’t complain. Mam likes that, and we all like, love, you, your Worship.” Miriel smiled at the boy and took the basket.

“Thank you, I will make sure to tell your Mam that you were good tonight.” She put the loaf in the basket and then left. She climbed to the roof of the stables and ate her bread and cheese there, but soon her mouth grew dry. She eyed the tavern below sighing, looked like she was going to have to interact with even more people today if she was going to solve her dry mouth dilemma. With a groan she climbed down from roof and made her way to the only lively building in Skyhold.

The tavern was a madhouse. Every off duty soldier had congregated around the bar to listen to Iron Bull tell the ever exciting story of taking down the dragon in Crestwood.

“And then, just when we thought we had her, she reared up and ROARED! The sky opened up and with rain came lightning that struck all around us. She whipped her head around and opened her mouth, preparing to bite me in half when the Inquisitor raised her bow and shot the beast in the eye! Oh, boys look now! The hero herself!” The entire tavern turned to look at her and raise a mug with a resounding, “HUZZAH!” She smiled politely and waved awkwardly.

“Hi.”

“Boss! Come over here!” She ducked her head and cut her way through the crowd that was clearly now huddled in oddly organized rings around Bull and the bar.

“Oh yes, bring another poor soul to drink this poor excuse for alcohol.” Dorian brooded playfully next to Bull, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

“Here! Have a drink!” Iron Bull shoved a tankard of…something to the Inquisitor. “To killing a High Dragon like warriors of legend!” She caught a whiff of the beverage and her head moved back instinctually.

“Whoa, that is…what is this?”

“Maraas-Lok,” the Bull practically purred.

“What does that mean?” Miriel eyed the concoction with poorly hidden suspicion and trepidation.

“It means drink!” Miriel exhaled deeply, stopped breathing for a bit and took a swig of the drink. She coughed and sputtered immediately upon swallowing.

“I know right? Put some chest on your chest!” Dorian rolled his eyes.

“If our dear Inquisitor had anymore chest on her chest, she’d tip right over.”  Dorian quipped. The entire tavern paused to see how Miriel reacted, only to see that she herself was gripping her stomach in laughter. It then didn’t take long for the building shake and rumble along with the laughter of over fifty people.

“That little gurgle right before it called the lightning? And that roar. What I wouldn’t give to roar like that.” Bull fantasized, just earning a scoff from Dorian.

“Well you don’t roar like that for lack of trying.” Bull ignored Dorian’s comment.

“The way the ground shook when it landed. The smell of the fires burning…Taarsidath-an Halsaam!” Bull drank some more, and Dorian rolled his eyes.

“The way he talks about it, it’s like he bedded the thing.” Dorian continued to grumble, staring into his mug.

“You know the Qunari hold dragons sacred? Well, as much as we hold anything sacred. Here, your turn.” Bull poured more of the drink into Miriel’s tankard.

“That thing you just said, you shouted that after the fight, too. What does it mean?” Miriel tried to stall from drinking more of the disgusting concoction.

“Oh, Taarsidath-an Halsaam? Closest translation would be, ‘I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking of this with great respect.’” Dorian and Miriel looked at Bull, flabbergasted.

“You shouted that while it was shooting lightning at us?” _Different strokes for different folks, I guess…but that’s just weird._

“Why am I not surprised?” Dorian sighed.

“I know, right?” Bull gave a very pointed look to Miriel’s drink. She sighed and downed the tankard, which caused more coughing and sputtering, but it wasn’t as bad as the first go.

“Yeah! The second cup’s easier. Most of the nerves in your throat are dead after the first one. Ataashi. ‘The Glorius Ones,’ that’s our word for them. Ataaaaasheeeeeee.” Miriel looked at Bull quizzically.

“Why do you think the Qunari think of dragons that way?” She didn’t know if it was the exhaustion or the alcohol, probably both, causing her to slur slightly. She was also beginning to slump over the bar.

“Well, you know how we have horns? We kind of look more…dragony…than most people. Maybe it’s that. But a few of the Ben-Hassrath have this crazy old theory. See, the Tamassrans control who we mate with. They breed us for jobs like you’d breed dogs or horses. What if they mixed in some dragon a long time ago? Maybe drinking the blood, maybe magic. I don’t know. But something in that dragon we killed…spoke to me.” The world was a little…hazy at the edges in Miriel’s vision, but she shrugged it off.

“When you put it like that, I’m worried we killed one of your gods or something.” Her speech slurred a bit and Bull waved her off.

“Nah. One of Tevinter’s gods, maybe. They worshipped dragons, right? Kill the shit out of them all you like.” Dorian, wobbling slightly in his seat, brooded.

“Yes, go ahead, kill the pride of my ancient, dead, ancestors.” Bull scowled at Dorian.

“You’re moody when you’re drunk.”

“Proper Tevene vintage sits much better than this swill.” Bull clapped Dorian on the back.

“Sorry we couldn’t pamper your dandy ass with your fancy Tevinter shit.”

“Blow me, lummox.”

“If you insist.” The two stared each other down, a game that Bull won seeing as the giant Qunari could hold his ale better than Dorian who quickly wobbled out of the staring match.

“Will you two just get a room, already?” Miriel interjected and Bull laughed.

“Sorry, Boss, now as I was saying. Dragons are the embodiment of raw power. But it’s all uncontrolled, savage…” he poured more of the drink into Miriel’s tankard, _why, Bull, why? I am a tiny elven woman, what makes you think I can hold my liquor any better than Dorian?_ “So they need to be destroyed. Taming the wild. Order out of chaos. Have another drink.” With a grimace Miriel lifted the heavy tankard and drank. She could barely taste the sludge this time, for which she was grateful, but it settled fitfully in her stomach for a second, causing a loud and very unflattering belch to emerge from Miriel’s mouth. Bull laughed heartily as Miriel blushed and pardoned herself.

“Nice! To dragons!” Bull raised his tankard high and Miriel joined him.

“To finding big and bad things and showing them we’re bigger and badder!” Bull roared with laughter, drank, then roared some more. Miriel smiled as she finished her drink. She slumped over the bar, her head swimming slightly but still remarkably clear. Dorian leaned closer to Bull, bringing his hand up not so elegantly to gesticulate.

“This disgusting concoction is an affront to my refined and superior tastes, you should feel ashamed.” Bull scoffed, not bothering to even try to hide his intoxication.

“Your vintage shit water is why you Vints don’t have any chest hair.”

“Says the hairless man-beast.” Miriel watched the Bull and Dorian flirt with each other with a smile. They were about to get into the whole staff versus sword debate when a bar stool next to her moved and a slightly inebriated young elf sat next to her. He was Dalish with the precise curved marks of Ghilan’nain gracing his fine, well-proportioned facial features.

“Andaran atishan, Inquisitor.” He said smoothly, she moved her mug in greeting with a smile on her face.

“Heeeey, you’re an elf!” Okay, maybe she was a little be drunker than she had initially thought.

“Yes, and so are you!” He smiled at her antics, and he was cute with his dark brown eyes and even darker hair.

“Yeah, I am!” She took a swig, _very improper, Josephine would be absolutely horrified…we must continue._

“You are also beautiful, I am thankful that you are allowing me to sit next to you at all.” He glanced away with a slight blush and she saw the redness around his vallaslin. _He’s a baby! Freshly tattooed, and now trying to get in my breeches!_ She giggled at that idea.

“Well, I happen to be a sucker for good company. Are you good company?” She deepened her voice a bit in a bid to sound sultry. Or was it slutty? Shem words tended to all sound the same.

“That depends on how much is left in that mug.” _Oh you are good, yes you are._ She swished her mug and frowned dramatically.

“It looks like I am empty, would you be a dear, and get me some more?” He smiled and hopped off the bar stool. She watched him walk away, noting his very firm butt and toned legs. She mock-frowned in appreciation, _not bad, not bad at all._ Soon the boy was back, with a pitcher of ale. He refilled her mug with a smile and resumed his seat.

“Now, where were we?” She smiled as she sipped her mug, _why not?_

**

It was laaaaate. So late, so very, _very_ late, and Miriel was up and still drunk. After flirting shamelessly with the young and very attractive Talin, Miriel was wobbling back to her quarters. She accidentally stumbled over Varric’s chair in the Great Hall, eliciting a nearly demented sounding laugh. She had just righted herself when she noticed that there was light emanating from Solas’s room, _the Rotunda, not Solas’s room, the Rotunda, dammit._ On an insane impulse, she wandered into the room to see Solas sitting quietly in his chair with a large, old tome in his hands. She must have made some noise because he looked up from his book, rather surprised to see her. She smiled and straightened her back as she walked closer.

“Heeeey Solas. Solaaas. Sooooolaaaaaas. Sole _ass._ ” She slurred, leaning forward precariously over his desk.

“You are intoxicated,” he stated simply as he not so subtly leaned away from her. _Why? Why doesn’t he like me?_

“Yeah…I just…I just wanted to say hi, so….hi,” she said. Solas quirked a brow in response.

“Do you require an escort to your chambers, lethallan?” That was the unsexiest proposal to put her to bed she had ever heard. Ugh.

“Suuuure,” she said anyways, lurching backwards. Solas quickly stood from his chair, moving to the other side of the desk to stabilize her.

“Maaaaa thanks?”

“You smell like a brewery,” he grumbled as he half carried, half led her out of the rotunda.

“Does it smell nice? I’ve never smelled one before…”

“Not particularly.”

“Are you saying I’m stinky?”

“Lethallan, perhaps you should focus on walking and not talking?” He suggested, trying to encourage her to move faster. She stuck her tongue out in an imitation of Sera, blowing air and spit in a childish display of annoyance.

“Pffbbfbbt. You’re no fun.”

“So I have been told.”

“You know who is fun?”

“I am going to regret asking this, but who?”

“ _Me._ I am a barrel of nugs with cheese fun. I am rolling down hills fun. I am soooo fucking fun. Wait, is _that_ why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you don’t like me?” She said and Solas just stopped moving together. They were standing in the middle of the Great Hall with her bearing the majority of her weight on him as he slumped forward to be able to take that weight. He apparently waited too long to respond because then she began to ramble.

“Because, I am…a very desirable woman. Men fall over me, and sometimes fall dead because I am so gorgeous. I kill fucking _dragons_ , because not only am I literally drop dead gorgeous, but a badass with a bow. I can keep up in drinking with a Qunari the size of a trebuchet that probably weighs four of me. I am smart, and kind, and so fucking understanding and charismatic that I talk even myself into things all the time. And I flirted with a really attractive elf boy tonight, and he has a really nice, tight ass, and he flirted back with me. He knows that I am gorgeous and badass and _awesome_ , and he flirted with me. He complimented my rack at some point, and I let him, because at least _someone_ is recognizing that I have an amazing rack, because I do. They are fantastic, they are fantitstic in fact.”

“Inquisitor?” He asked but she continued to ramble, her pace would not be slowed and her intent would not be stopped.

“And while this really attractive, young elf who has hair and doesn’t have any commitment issues is noticing all these things about me, my beauty, my badassery, my tits…it meant nothing. _NOTHING._ I felt nothing as he slowly fell in love with me because I couldn’t stop thinking that I want another elf to notice all these things about me, to compliment me and want to kiss me and try to cop a feel in a room full of inebriated soldiers. I couldn’t help think about this elf, also attractive who doesn’t have hair but does have, apparently, commitment issues. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you…you…. _jackass._ ” Solas, in all of his shocked state, stared at her.

“Excuse me?” She threw free hand up dramatically.

“You heard me, _jackass!_ You kiss me, oh no, you don’t just kiss me, we _snog_ in the Fade, and you say you need time to think about it. It’s been over a month! And in that month, we have cuddled and shared a bed, I have helped you and your spirit friend. And that is a long time, Solas, a long fucking time. You know how long it’s been I’ve had sex? Go ahead, _guess!_ ” The alcohol made her bold. She had, while speaking, pulled his face down to hers so that their gazes could lock.

“I do not think this is-

“Guess, dammit!” He was at a loss for words.

“A few months?” It was not his place to be supposing about her sexual encounters. _You want it to be, though. STOP._

“Two fucking years, Solas! Two years! Men are not the only ones with needs! But you know what, you take your time, Solas. You take it, because I am not going anywhere. My gorgeous, badass, awesome self isn’t going anywhere, because you are here, and I want to be here. I want to be with you, and I don’t care if you think it’s a bad idea, because it isn’t. We are not a bad idea. A bad idea is drinking with Bull when he is four times your size and keeping up with him, but us? We are not a bad idea. So…I’m not going anywhere. Now you can take your time and think about that, because I have like…five minutes before I pass out, because drinking with Bull.” She slumped in his arms and he quickly ushered her to her room while she became increasingly incoherent (she was talking about acquiring a rabbit for Cole and then a nug for the rabbit because she thought the rabbit would get lonely while Cole was not there).

Solas guided her into her bed and pulled the covers over her while making sure she was laying on her side. She was passed out in a manner of moments. He quietly left her room and returned to his rotunda where his head swam with thoughts.

Did she really believe he had not noticed these things about her? Did she not realize how he watched nigh constantly, especially as of late? Had she not felt his heavy gaze upon her form while he prepared yet another sketch of her? And did she not know that he noticed so much more about her other than her physicality? How he would cherish the opportunity and the freedom to tell her precisely what he felt about her spirit and character?

Did she truly believe that he did not desire her in any capacity whatsoever?

They were surprisingly disturbing thoughts. Her unawareness of his desire for her, while beneficial in allowing him the proper amount of time to decide, was upsetting to say the least. And to admit that he was disturbed by this revelation meant that he had to acknowledge another fact: he wanted her to know that he desired her. But if she knew, she would act upon it more surely than she was now, and how would he be able to resist her then? _Should_ he resist her? The logical part of him cried ‘yes!’. Getting into an emotional investment with her could spell disaster. Yet at the same time…it had been so long and never had he met a woman quite like her. Every individual was unique, of course, but Miriel was…she was hope and vitality while also caring and forgiving. She was everything he had never known he had desired in a woman, and now that she was here…was it even possible for him to not pursue this?

He dropped his head into his hands and sighed. It was going to be a long night of contemplation.

**

Miriel woke up with her head pounding and her stomach in knots, _note to self, never go drinking with Bull again._ She rose with a groan from her bed. There was a pitcher of water on her nightstand that the maid had placed earlier (at least that’s what she believed, she wasn’t completely sure) and Miriel practically chugged the entire thing.

She had barely gotten fully clothed before Josephine stomped into her room followed by a man in frilly clothing and another very nervous looking man with a book and a pen.

“Good, you are awake. This is Monsieur Dumont, Master of Dance, and his assistant Lou. You will be learning the primary dances today.” Miriel resisted the urge to groan, _isn’t the dancing supposed to happen_ before _you’re hungover?_

“Bonjour, Monsieurs. Ambassador, might we partake in breakfast before we dance?” Miriel pleaded, and Josie was about to answer when Dumont stepped forward, speaking in a ridiculously thick Orlesian accent.

“Nonsense! The best dancers do not eat, they live off of the nectar of dance.” Monsieur Dumont proclaimed. Miriel was unimpressed.

“I am not a dancer, I am the Inquisitor, and the Inquisitor needs breakfast.” Josephine sighed.

“Very well, Mallory!” Suddenly a maid appeared out of nowhere, popping into the quarters with a peppy voice and bright eyes. _She was smart,_ Miriel thought, _she didn’t go drinking with a qunari the size of a trebuchet last night._

“Yes, Ambassador Montilyet?”

“Please fetch a slice of bread and jam for the Inquisitor.” Wait, was that all the food Josie was going to allow Miriel, oh no, no, no, no, she was _not_ suffering dance lessons hungover _AND_ without a proper breakfast.

“Actually make that three scrambled eggs, egg-fried toast with syrup, five strips of bacon, sausage, and throw in a couple of pancakes while you’re at it. And if there is any coffee left, give me all of it.” Josephine smiled happily.

“How nice of you to ask for breakfast for all of us.” Miriel raised her eyebrow at her Ambassador.

“Uh, no. If you want something, ask now I suppose, or we could stop by the kitchens.” The smile went away and the two frilly men stared at the slim Miriel, mouths ajar.

“Merde,” Dumont exclaimed.

“You are going to eat all that?” Lou inquired and Miriel nodded.

“Yes, I am starved. I had a very light supper last night and then drank an absurd amount of…some alcoholic beverage the Qunari swear by. Look, I am not polite or a lady, yet. Josephine is going to turn me into one by the end of this week, I am sure, but right now I am simply a hungover, Dalish elf with a hankering for bacon. Now if you will excuse me.” She left the amazed people in her quarters, making her purposeful way downstairs to the kitchen. She soon heard the distinctive clip clopping of fancy shoes clicking after her.

“We will turn you into the fire of the Ball! Everyone shall envy your spark and your elegance, look Lou! Look how she walks! A born dancer!” Now this was shocking. Miriel glanced back at the men with a confused expression.

“Excuse me?” She asked. She walked like a hunter…not a dancer.

“You, my dear Inquisitor, possess the spark of stubbornness and grace that truly magnificent dancers possess, I shall transform you into a beautiful swan.” Miriel nodded slowly.

“I like the idea, swans are beautiful…and surprisingly aggressive.” Dumont smiled behind his mask.

“Precisely the idea!” Miriel smiled, it wasn’t too often frilly Orlesian men surprised her, but this one did and she was grateful.

“Wonderful job, Josephine, for finding the best dance instructor in Orlais.” Dumont and Lou gasped.

“Your praise is undeserved, we have not even shown you what we are capable of.”

“I am sure whatever it is, it is immensely superior to what I can do, and because you can tolerate a hungover me, that immediately makes you superior.” The group made their way to the kitchen. Upon arrival, Miriel had the cooks make them _all_ breakfast. Dumont was shocked and Lou was positively astounded at the food.

“We haven’t had a proper breakfast in…how long has it been, Lou?” Dumont asked, to which a still chewing Lou responded.

“Fifteen years.”

“Ah, yes, fifteen years. You work with dancers all day, you start eating like a dancer.” It was Miriel’s turn to be shocked.

“You haven’t had a proper breakfast in fifteen years?!” She asked as she dug into her eggs.

“No, I haven’t. A grapefruit for breakfast, a slice of toast with Salmon and a tomato for lunch, and a spinach salad with avocado garnish and a side of Antivan oranges for supper. If I was feeling particularly hungry I would eat a small cube of cheese.”

“Creators, man, you’ve been starving yourself!”

“Oh all the couture clothes demand it, and so do the dancers.” Miriel shook her head.

“Well no more, as long as you are with the Inquisition, eat everything you want. In fact, that is an order. Eat, and if you get fat, I will have the seamstresses make couture for you.”

“You are a delight, Mistress Lavellan.” They had a good little chortle over their food. Miriel stopped short when she saw Solas enter the kitchen.

“Hello, I did not realize that the kitchen was occupied, I shall stop by later.” The mage said and before she thought better of it, Miriel stood up to wave him in.

“Don’t be silly, Solas, eat. Nobody at Skyhold is going without food, Josephine, please make sure of that.”

“Already done, your Worship,” Josephine smiled, Miriel smiled and gestured to the kitchen widely.

“Well there you go, eat. Agnes cooked the eggs perfectly, and there are muffins.” Dumont spun around in his seat.

“There are muffins?”

“Yes, would you care for some, Monsieur?” The man grabbed his plate excitedly.

“Oh only if you insist.” Miriel placed a muffin on the giddy man’s plate, “oh thank you!” She then turned to Solas with a muffin in her hand.

“Solas?” He hesitated for a moment before accepting it.

“Thank you, lethallan.” She turned around with an “oh!” to grab a plate and pile eggs on.

“Here, eggs are good for you, and I know you don’t care for fatty meats, but you need more substance than a muffin…oh! And strawberries, we just got a shipment in.” Miriel handed the plate to Solas without a thought and then opened cupboard, pulling out a basket of beautiful red strawberries.

“Oh strawberries sound wonderful!” Lou exclaimed. Miriel giggled softly as she took Lou’s plate and put a few Strawberries on it. She then took the plate Solas was holding and put some more of the red fruit on it.

“I, unlike you, lethallan, do not have a bottomless pit where my stomach should be.” He teased. She threw him a playfully annoyed look and put even more fruit on the plate.

“There, eat.” She gave him a smile then hopped down to rejoin the fancily dressed people at the counter.

Solas held the plate and watched Miriel for a few seconds longer than necessary with a soft expression. She gave him a questioning but almost flirty look.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” She went to touch her face when he broke out of his reverie.

“Your face is lovely- I mean your face does not have any stray food or other particles…I ought to be going, I have some research that I want to get caught up on. Ambassador, Monsieurs…Inquisitor.” With a slight decline with his head Solas left, leaving a stunned Miriel and three terrible gossips.

“Will Monsieur Solas be joining us for the dance lessons?” Monsieur Dumont inquired, and Miriel could just hear the smirking eyebrow arch in his tone.

“Oh Solas isn’t really one for dancing, I believe…he’s rather…introverted.”

“Oh introverted men make the best dancers, they let their feet speak their words and the dance becomes beautiful and poetic. Lou, would you be so kind as to fetch the Monsieur when we move to the ballroom?” Lou nodded enthusiastically while Miriel sighed in defeat. Apparently she could command the Inquisition’s forces but when it came to herself, she was at the mercy of Josephine.

**

Skyhold was unfortunately bereft of a ballroom much to Dumont’s chagrin. The group decided to finally make use of the large hall behind the kitchen and below the Great Hall.

“The columns should not be too much of an issue,” Dumont supposed, eyeing the architecture as if he could alter the structure by sheer will alone.

“This is the closest we have to a ballroom.” _I think, never actually seen a ballroom,_ Miriel thought.

“It will do, but when you expand Skyhold, be sure to add a proper ballroom. It is a must for hosting alliance talks with any Orlesian family.” Miriel looked at Josephine, startled.

“I believe we should be focusing our resources on more immediate issues, such as Corypheus as opposed to distant issues, like expanding Skyhold.”

“Of course, Inquisitor, but after Corypheus is dealt with, Skyhold should be expanded to accommodate the new demands of the Inquisition.” The Ambassador offered in a bid to calm Miriel.

“I suppose…Josephine, we should discuss the future at a later date so that we are on the same page for the trajectory of the Inquisition and Skyhold. But now, we dance?” Dumont strode soundlessly, elegantly to Miriel.

“Of course! The first dance you must learn is the waltz,” all of a sudden, with a wave from Dumont, three men holding instruments hurried into the room and began to set up. He then set the bag he was carrying down and reached in, pulling out a pair of dainty dancing heels that he handed to Miriel.

“Put these on, please,” She sighed but did as she was told, figuring that she would have to dance in heels at the ball, so it was best to practice with them. He then ushered her to the middle of the floor.

“This is a very traditional, but sexy dance since the dance partners are in contact for the entire dance.” Dumont approached Miriel, placing his hand on her waist and taking her hand to put on his shoulder. He took her free hand to hold and when the music struck up he began to show her how to move.

**

Lou had to ask several people where to go before finding himself at the rotunda. The door was open, giving him a view of the bald elf reading an ancient looking book, an empty plate resting beside him.

“Monsieur Solas, everyone attending the Masquerade at Halamshiral must partake in the dance lessons as to not embarrass or discredit the Inquisition. If you would be so kind as to go to the hall behind the kitchens, please.”

“I already know how to dance, Monsieur, but thank you for the invitation.” Solas gave a polite smiled and returned to his book. Lou scowled briefly before regaining his composure.

“The Inquisitor requires a dance partner, Monsieur,” Lou offered, trying to lead the taciturn elf in the right direction.

“Are you and the dance master not sufficient for her?” The elf did not look up from his book, a quiet dismissal. Lou resisted huffing in indignation.

“We are sufficient, of course, but she knows and trusts you, she may learn more quickly with the aid of your instruction.” Solas gave a low laugh at the thought.

“You clearly do not know the Inquisitor, she only performs a certain way if it suits her, she is…wonderfully stubborn.” _She is not the only stubborn one,_ Lou thought.

“Very well, I shall inform the Inquisitor that you will not be attending, then,” with barely concealed indignation, and a huff, Lou walked out of the rotunda to gather the other members of the Inner Circle.

**

Solas sat in his chair, unbothered at first by Lou’s request for him to join in on the dance lesson. Besides, he had reading and research to catch up on. With Miriel apparently not recalling her…outburst the other night, Solas did not feel the compulsion to attend a lesson explaining things he already knew. He used to be quite the rogue in the days of Arlathan, the dance floor had been his preferred stage for flirtation and courtship. He smiled, recalling the many women he had wooed. Falon’Din would always grow jealous upon seeing that the little blonde muse he was chatting up was falling into Solas’s arms, swept up and away into an unimaginable romance. He had never directly boasted, instead he _showed_ his capabilities to his potential romantic partners. A little magic here and there, a dance or two, and he found his bed almost always warmed by at least one enthralled mistress. For a time at least. _Oh the folly of youth._

An unbidden image of Miriel in ancient robes twirling and dancing about the golden floor, smiling from ear to ear as she was lead through the steps of an ancient dance. She was the embodiment of grace and precision in battle, leaping to and fro just as a dancer would. She was a natural born dancer and would be sure to impress the dance masters and eventually the Orlesian court.

She did not need his assistance. She was already graceful and took instruction well, she did not need another person there to instruct her.

Confident in his decision, Solas turned back to his book, but the words floated in the back of his mind, pushed out of the way by the image of Miriel in a beautiful, golden gown, laughing as she moved. She was all glittering light, beaming and free as she moved in the soft candlelight. Solas sighed, placing the book on his desk to rub his forehead. No woman should hold such beauty, temptation, and grace in such potency. And yet there was Miriel, smiling and flitting around in his mind, occupying spaces that ought to be filled with research or ancient knowledge. Instead all he could think of was what she would look like dressed in the dresses of old. How long she would have kept her hair. What she would feel like in his arms as he moved her.

Suddenly her words from the previous night echoed in his mind, “ _He noticed me.”_ He scoffed, as if Solas didn’t notice her. He doubted that anyone noticed her as much as he did. He had memorized her form in various activities, from being curled up on his couch reading a book, with her legs folded under her as she concentrated on the words before her, to her leaping to and fro in the heat of battle, her lithe little body twisting and turning out of the way of blades and arrows. He knew the subtle differences in her smirks and smiles, and when she was being serious, sarcastic, or scathingly nice. He noticed _everything._ That interloper knew nothing about Miriel, he idolized a beautiful, flawless Inquisitor or even, a Herald of Andraste, while Solas _knew_ the anxious, charming, stubborn Miriel of clan Lavellan. But would he know how she was learning how to dance? When she had to learn how to follow a beat other than her own?

Void take him but he had to see her. Perhaps seeing her learn how to dance would sate his curiosity and he could return to his studies. _Yes, and Corypheus will turn his entire plan around and return to whatever hole he crawled out of._ Nonetheless, he stood and made his way to the hall adjacent to the kitchens. Music drifted up the stairs he was walking down, a lively little tune that was pleasing to the ears.

When he stepped into the room, the sight that greeted him was…well, it was not anticipated.

The other companions were already in the hall when Solas arrived. Dorian had been paired with…Sera? Bull was standing ramrod straight as Vivienne commanded him across the dance floor, while Cassandra and Blackwall scowled as they moved. Cole and Varric sat on the side lines, watching. In the center was Monsieur Dumont, holding a very confused and extremely awkward looking Miriel.

“Now, I want all of you to count with me, 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3” Dorian and Cassandra were rolling their eyes, but all Solas could see was the battle Miriel was fighting with the dance Master as he tried to lead her through the dance. The normally graceful woman was spasmodic, her motions jolting discordantly with the Monsieur. Dumont looked frustrated and exhausted as he tried unsuccessfully to move Miriel in the way the dance required. With a glance down to her feet, Solas saw the problem. Miriel was perched in a pair of plain, but dainty, dancing heels. Her body was rigid as she tried to balance on her new feet, and the Monsieur was utterly unforgiving.

“Inquisitor, this would be easier if you would move with me,” The Monsieur sneered, Miriel just rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“I am trying, Monsieur, the footing is not what I am used to.” It was a huge concession from the sometimes too proud elf. They moved again, this time Miriel accidentally stomped on Dumont’s foot causing the man to cry out in pain.

“We shall…take a five minute break. Lou! Bring me the ice,” the smaller Orlesian man scrambled to the dance master as the floor cleared of the dancing students. Miriel leaned down and pulled the offending shoes off her feet, and from his view, Solas spotted at least two blisters. She hissed as she flexed her feet, spreading her toes and stretching a foot one by one. When she was the only on in the center, Solas emerged from the shadows and entered the dance floor.

“Oh great, you get to see me stumble in this, while you apparently are already a dance master.” As she spoke, Solas approached her, invading her space. Her breath hitched at the intrusion and she moved to recreate the space between them, but he simply followed her.

“Dance is more than just moving rhythmically to music,” he began,

“It is pursuit,” he took her hand, placing it on his shoulder.

“It is flirtation,” he placed his hand at her waste, his eyes sparkling with mirth and dark desire.

“But most of all,” he took her hand in his and gave a small smile, “it is a hunt,” then he began to move her perfectly in count. Her breath hitched but she did not resist him as he led her.

“What about my shoes?” She whispered breathlessly.

“You do not need them,” he purred back at her. He was aware of the talking and whispers at the edges of the room, people gazing at them, but he was sure that she was only aware of him. Their eyes spoke volumes to each other. He conveyed his undeniable desire for her and she returned in kind with wide, amber eyes, and slightly pouted lips. He guided her through the movements of the dance, showing her what it meant to be guided by more than just a master of dance, but a master of hunt, a master of flirtation. He showed her what it would be to be fully courted by not just Solas, but Fen’Harel. He may have curved his hips a little closer to hers than necessary, but it was all part of his flirtation, and if it elicited a small gasp from Miriel, well, how could he deny himself such a reward?

He watched her face intensely, her wide, bright eyes locked on his. Her lips were parted on a perpetual “oh” and it was all he could do to not bend down and steal a kiss right then and there. He spun her away from him, removing temptation briefly, before surrounding her in his arms once more.

She fit so perfectly in his arms, holding onto him as they danced. She was quickly catching on to how to move as well, not relying on his curved hips as much. The little minx even curved _her_ hips towards him a slight, playful, but clearly sexual tease. _Do not respond, do not respond,_ he told himself over and over again, but then her eyes slowly lit up and a smile overtook her face as she finally understood the dance. Soon they were moving as one, with him leading and her following in a provocative, teasing manner that filled his heart with so much love that – wait. What?

_Lath._

His heart froze for the briefest moment before rapidly beating as he realized that he was not falling in love with her. Oh no, he had already fallen. He was down, deeply in love with Miriel of clan Lavellan and it was potentially one of the most ill-advised things he had ever done, accidental or otherwise. But for the life of him he was not filled with regret but with joy.

Love.

He had never thought he could feel this in such a day and age where he felt sundered from himself, disconnected from everything and everyone. Yet here was this beautiful, vibrant, dancing woman who had blown apart his preconceptions of this world and the people within in and he loved her.

He felt lighter than air as he spun her, smiling freely. She let out a startled giggle and fell back to him, her feet moving perfectly in sync with his.

_She is going to die._

His world stilled, the room grew dark, and his heart fell to the floor. Miriel of clan Lavellan was going to die. It was not her mortality, but his plan, the dark necessities for restoration that would kill her. He would kill her.

His love, his heart, his _vhenan_ (oh to know his heart! To see it glow so beautifully! Such a joyous horror) would die by his hand or his machinations.

All of these realizations happened in a few short breaths, his emotions flickering across his face too quickly for Miriel to get an accurate read on them. _Good, she should never know._ But how could he keep this burning a secret? To know the taste of her mouth but not the exquisite torture of all of her affections? She was his heart, separate from yet vital to him.

But the steps to the dance were now completed and he still held her close. Their breaths slightly more labored as they stared into each other’s eyes.

“Solas?” It was barely a whisper and yet it echoed endlessly in his ears.

“Not so difficult then, is it, lethallan?” He unconsciously moved his head closer to hers.

“No,” she whispered, arching her neck, moving her head closer to his. Their faces were mere inches apart, the closest they had been since the kiss. The kiss. Solas recalled the softness of her lips, the urgency in how she had gripped his arm. The way her chest had swelled with breath as she arched into him. _Ar lath ma._ The words burned in his mind.

“That was absolutely amazing! Oh Inquisitor, I knew you had it in you to be a dancing queen!” Monsieur Dumont and the rest of the onlookers began clapping loudly. And just like that, the moment was over. Solas left the intimate embrace, allowing the Inquisitor to regain herself.

“And Monsieur Solas! You are quite the dashing rogue on the dancefloor. When we take you to Halamshiral, we must make sure all of the ladies have fans,” the dance master continued.

“Shoes are typically uncomfortable for elves, particularly Dalish elves. I would suggest having her learn in boots, rather than the heels.” He smiled politely, and left the dance floor. Distance, he needed distance from her but any at all felt wrong. In the days of the empire, such a monumental discovery would have the two involved ensconced in their own little world. This was sometimes literal, where couples would construct their own little hideaways in the corners of the Fade. They would talk, laugh, make love if they so desired. That is…if the feelings were reciprocated.

_Does she love me?_ It was agony to think that she did not, could or would not, but it was torture to imagine the pain he would undoubtedly cause her if she did love him. Dammit.

He should leave the room altogether, but he was already standing to the far side of the room, watching as Monsieur Dumont wrap his arms around Miriel. Her eyes found his, her neck craning so she could see him. He saw the confusion, the desire and knew that they were far in too deep.

Damn it all but he couldn’t look away from his heart.

**

Miriel could barely breathe. That wasn’t dancing, that was…that was public sex. She had forgotten the other people in the room, and she had actually let go, allowing Solas to maneuver her however he wished. He was not leading her, he was commanding her sensually. It was the most intimate thing she had ever done, and she was fully clothed! He could see _her,_ not just her body. With every turn and step, he could know more of her, and she let him in without a fight.

_Creators,_ her breath slowly returned to her now that he was no longer touching her. She now understood why the Monsieur had said the dance was a bit scandalous, she actually felt like she had just been a part of a scandal, and oh Creators, _in front of everyone._ She finally turned to look at the crowd, her face dazed and flushed.

“Inquisitor, will learning in boots work for you?” The Monsieur asked, absolutely delighted at the show Solas and her had just put on.

“Um, sure, that works fine,” she said as her eyes met _his_ heated gaze. His eyes were now appeared more blue than grey, with dilated pupils and a look somewhere between intense desire and bewilderment. _How strange._

“Excellent! Everyone, back to your positions,” there were grumbles of protest, but everyone complied. Soon the music was cued up and Miriel was dancing with the Monsieur. Throughout the dance she kept stealing glances of Solas, who had not left strangely enough.

**

Dance lessons lasted for hours. Miriel’s feet were killing her, all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep the aches and pains off, but she had to talk to Solas. Her body was still afire from their intimate dance, and now it craved more contact, more of that heated, unrelenting gaze. Creators help her, she wanted him, now more than ever. She wanted to feel his hands on her, his lips on hers, but more than anything she wanted to wake up to him every morning. She wanted to listen to him speak passionately about the Fade, wanted to get caught up in all of his passions. She wanted to _be_ one of his passions.

He had retired to his rotunda after the first hour, but not before giving her a lingering intense look that echoed his earlier desire-meets-bewilderment expression.

So Miriel made her way to the rotunda, her heart thundering in her chest. When she entered the room, he was gazing at the latest panel he had painted. The only sources of light were from a candle on his desk and the candles up in the library above only faintly illuminating the space. Shadows and sharp angles danced in the light, coalescing around Solas. A single plane of his back was illuminated against the shadows while his shadow on the wall seemed to watch Miriel as she strode toward him.

“Solas?” She inquired quietly, the room feeling strangely predatory. Despite the hungry looking shadow, Solas turned to her with a small, friendly smile on his face. There it was again! His eyes were alight with wonder, as if he had just seen his first ever frilly cake or something.

“Inquisitor. I was… do you have a moment?” He was surprisingly earnest in his request.

“Yes! I mean…I wanted to talk to you.” Her heart sped up, anxious and nervous but needing to talk to him, and hopefully….well, a girl could always hope.

“Good, do you….think we could discuss this in private?” Was it her or did his eyes flash to that heat for a split second? And in private? Was that code for “I want to make love to you all night long” in Solas speak? Creators, she hoped so.

“Oh, yes, of course, will my quarters suffice?” There was a bed in her quarters, as well as a couch, a plush rug, her desk which she was certain was very sturdy…

“Yes, that would be perfect.” She smiled and nodded, incapable of doing much else. She felt like a teenager holding her beau’s hand as she led him to her aravel that she had prepared specially for him. She had to resist the urge to tuck her hair behind her ear and batting her eyelashes in a girlish attempt to flirt. Instead, Miriel showed a cool, calm exterior as she led the man she had desired for months back to her quarters.

When they reached the large room, Solas made a beeline to the balcony, allowing Miriel a great view of his a-

“What were you like before the Anchor?” He interrupted her train of thought, lifting her gaze to his face. “Has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your… spirit?” She took a moment to think, mostly because discussing the Anchor was not what she had expected when she had led him to her quarters.

“I don’t believe so…if anything, I am more open to differing opinions, but I accredit that to meeting so many different people.” She offered.

“That’s an excellent point.”

“Why do you ask?” Her brow furrowed as he paused, she tried to gauge his expression but he was looking out at the mountains, watching the shadows move as the sun sank in the sky.

“You show a wisdom I have not seen since….since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade. You are not what I expected.” The praise was what was unexpected. Solas would approve of things, but to actually compliment and praise something let alone someone? A rarity.

“Sorry to disappoint.” She joked, but apparently he was not as fluent in sarcasm as she.

“It’s not disappointing, it’s….” he sighed, clearly searching for the words. “Most people are predictable. You have shown subtlety in your actions, a wisdom that goes against everything I expected. If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours… Have I misjudged them?” _And we’re back to the Dalish, not me, but the elves, always the bloody Dalish._ Was it too much to ask for that she for once wanted him to see past her Vallaslin and see _her?_ She was more than the sum of her heritage. Yes, being Dalish was incredibly important to her, but it wasn’t everything and she wished that he understood that.

“I don’t hold the Dalish up as perfect, but we have something worth honoring – a memory of the ancient ways.” She said, what she always said when he confronted her about matters concerning the elves and or the Dalish.

“Perhaps that is it. I suppose it must be. Most people act with so little understanding of the world. But not you.” More praise? Something was up, and the anticipation was killing her.

“So what does this mean, Solas?” She asked, her eyes meeting his. The heat from earlier was barely there, but there was an undeniable intensity that made her heart beat faster.

“It means I have not forgotten the kiss.” Her breath caught in her throat, causing her to pause briefly before the huntress in her took over. She strode to Solas slowly, seductively.

“Good,” he remained still as she invaded his space this time. Their bodies were a breath apart when he shook his head and turned his body away from hers. No, he couldn’t leave her, not now. She took his arm, hoping to keep him there. “Don’t go,” she asked, almost pleaded, to his back.

“It would be kinder in the long run. But losing you would,” suddenly he was whipping around, pressing his lips to hers in a heated kiss. His hands pulled her hips towards his, closing any space between them. She reacted almost instantaneously, kissing him back as her hands went to his shoulders. Everybody fiber in her body was crying YES as his mouth moved over hers, his body pressing closer to hers. His mouth opened slightly, allowing his tongue to run sensually over her lips, asking for permission. _Oh, hell yes,_ she let him in on a gasp that arched her back into him. Solas made a low, subtle noise in the back of throat that had her pressing her thighs together. He pulled her even closer so that there was no space between them, his hand traveled down to her behind, delightfully squeezing it. He made another low sound of approval, fully opening his mouth to devour hers. Their tongues tangled and rubbed, his masculine taste heating her to the core. All too soon, he was pulling away, his hand coming up to caress her face.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he whispered, and her eyes widened. She didn’t – she couldn’t – WHAT. No words could come out, none of them would compare to the magnitude to what he just said. All she could do was cup his face and kiss him with all the emotion she felt for him, all the need and desire not just for his physical self, but the person. She wanted Solas, all of him, everything he had to offer, and she hoped that he could sense that with this kiss. His intellect, his sass, his passion for everything that he did – she wanted everything he was and had to give. The kiss ended but she remained in his space, on her tiptoes, caressing his face. Amber eyes met blue-grey ones, gazes more passionate and loving than simply desirous. He wanted _her_ as well, and that simple act brought tears to her eyes. It was one thing to love, but another thing entirely to be loved in return. She buried her face into where his shoulder met his neck.

“I make you cry,” his voice was low, full of concern and confusion.

“You make me happy,” she said into his neck, hugging him close. His eyes closed as his arms held her close to himself. _And you make me hope, vhenan._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It happened! Yay! Smooching elves! Okay, now some quick things.
> 
> I am seriously considering writing the kiss from Solas's perspective. If I were to do this, I would publish it as a separate one-shot and I would want it out before the next chapter. If you would really like this, please let me know. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, leaving kudos, commenting - especially to fairylight and Jubilation_Lee for continually reviewing and interacting with me. You guys are the best. <3


	17. Investigate

_Nightingale,_

_Our operatives harassed the enemy and created enough confusion for the Dalish to withdraw safely to a more defensible area._

_After investigation, your suspicions were correct: these are bandits in name only. Though they wear no colors, they are mercenaries, bought and paid for by Duke Antoine of Wycome himself. It is unclear what caused Antoine to turn on the Dalish, but he should not be trusted. In public, he fully supports the Inquisition, even pledging gold to our coffers, but he has a private agenda, currently unknown._

_I can continue gathering information, but suspicions in Wycome are high after the bandits ran into trouble, and any sabotage inside the city runs a high risk of detection._

_Jester_

_**_

_Miri,_

_Both promises were kept._

_Love,_

_Maren_

_**_

_Nightingale,_

_I have new information regarding Duke Antoine of Wycome's move against the Inquisitor's Dalish clan. It appears that Wycome has been experiencing some sort of plague that affects only humans. The duke has kept news of the disease quiet; as his fellow nobles grow louder in their anger, blaming the elves in the alienage for what has been called the "Knife-Eared Plague," Antoine evidently chose to use Clan Lavellan as a scapegoat. His surreptitious move against the Dalish was an attempt to convince his nobles that he was taking action._

_Suspicions in the city remain high. I can gather information, but any action on my part will be high risk._

_Jester_

_**_

_Lady Guinevere Volant,_

_It has been such a long time since I have written? How are you faring in Wycome? It has been so long since I have been, are the parties still as raucous and daring as they were when I attended Lady Mulgrove’s soiree? And how of the Duke? As charming as I always I presume._

_Such dire times these are. It is a blessing to have the Inquisitor to champion us in our time of need. She is working to restore order to our chaos ridden world and I am ever so grateful to be a part of it. To be a part of this chapter of history is quite exciting, is it not?_

_Please write me soon, my friend, it has been too long._

_Yours truly,_

_Lady Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador of the Inquisition_


	18. The Wolf Is Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition arrives at Halamshiral to save the Orlesian Empire from a Tevinter assassin. It is an eventful night for multiple parties. SFW

Preparations for the ball had included having new garments made in special Orlesian fashion. The seamstress had nearly fainted when she had seen all of Miriel's tattoos and apparently unladylike muscles. Miriel had requested a dress that would allow for greater movement, including it being sleeveless and without a corset. They had very limited information on what to expect at the ball and Miriel was almost certain that it would involve fighting of some sort. Having restricted movement in a dress while fighting was a monumentally stupid idea. So when the seamstress had returned with a long gold dress with slim-fitted sleeves and a corset, Miriel had about a fit.

"No corset, no sleeves, I thought this was clear," she sighed. They were leaving for Halamshiral tomorrow and this attire would simply not do. The construction was impractical and the style was ridiculously Orlesian, with frills and ruffles.

"This is the fashion!" The seamstress shrieked.

"The fashion is ridiculous and horribly impractical," Miriel countered.

"Ladies, there must be a compromise. Surely you see Madame Shirot, that the Inquisitor has well-founded concerns about the function of the dress beyond dancing. And Inquisitor, practicality in this matter also includes fashion. If you forgo it, you could end up insulting and alienating the court, which will work against our objective." Josephine intervened and Miriel sighed.

"Very well, something fashionable and practical. But we don't have much time at all…" a piece of glittering fabric caught Miriel's eye and she stood up, walking over to the trunk of clothes and fabric Madame Shirot had brought.

"Is this fabric in fashion?" She asked and the Madame gasped.

"The Inquisitor has good taste? I would never have guessed," the Madame said before joining Miriel by the trunk. Miriel lifted up a beautiful shimmering practically sheer silk chiffon.

"You…you want a dress made out of _that?_ It would be as if you were naked!" Madame Shirto sputtered and Miriel rolled her eyes.

"I am aware, but perhaps we could have, I don't know…an under thing around the important bits? Then maybe with some of this," she picked out some gold beaded embroidery and Madame Shirot's eyes went wide.

"That is…that is brilliant, Lady Inquisitor! We could create an elven inspired leaf pattern over the chiffon and we will have a silk underlay beginning at your breasts…yes, yes, I see it now. Giselle! Fetch me the tools, we are making a dress." Miriel was herded back to the pedestal where Giselle and Shirot began to pin and sow the dress around her.

She was stripped out of her clothes, leaving her in her smalls (no breast band though), and began to wrap the fabrics around her. Needles, pins, and scissors appeared and before Miriel knew it, the main dress was being constructed around her.

Measurements were taken, _again_ , and Miriel gained more than a few more punctures from the needles and pins.

"Try sewing the dress and not my flesh please," she whispered. One of the assistances intentionally stabbed Miriel and she hissed.

"We don't tell you how to do your job," Giselle snapped in a thick Orlesian accent.

"Are all Orlesians sensitive bitches with small pointy objects or just the ones I meet?" Miriel asked and Josephine sighed.

"Now that I have you in one place, we need to go over a few things…"

**

The dress was finished being constructed two hours before arriving at the ball and Miriel was…satisfied. Dresses weren't her thing to begin with, but this one was nice. She stood in front of a full length mirror in her temporary quarters in one of the guest estates at Halamshiral. She turned and posed, appraising herself.

She did not look Dalish, but she didn't look bad either. She looked…different. The entire ensemble was beautiful, just extraordinarily different from what she was used to wearing. The dress was wonderfully light and moved with her effortlessly. The golden embroidery, stitched from the collar down to her knees, glittered in the light. The chiffon flared out at the bottom, allowing for maximal movement along with the practically hidden slit that ran from the top of her right hip down to the hem of the dress.

Surprisingly the dress left her arms bare with the sleeves ending sharply at the end of her shoulders. This left her upper biceps, the area in between the end of the dress and the beginning of her opera length gloves, exposed, giving the Orlesian court a taste of the extensive tattoos that decorated her. How scandalous.

At some point during the construction of the dress, Madame Shirot had smiled evilly, looked up at Miriel and asked her if she was comfortable with being a bit scandalous. Miriel had grinned wolfishly at the woman before happily replying, "Fuck yes."

A scandal meant that she was not only showing off a bit of her tattoos, but forgoing a mask, flashing her legs because of the large slit in her dress, and forgoing the silk underlayer around her midriff. So Miriel was walking around looking artfully decorated with strategically placed embroidery and without a corset. Madame Shirot was all too happy to use Miriel as a vehicle to dabble in a completely new and different style – one that rivaled even that of the daring nature of Tevinter courts according to Dorian. Though, her legs wouldn't be horribly exposed anyways, with her thigh-high brown leather elven boots. The great thing about the boots and the gloves was that they could store a blade in each, meaning that she would never have to be unarmed in the Winter Palace. Fantastic.

"Would you hold still? You keep squirming and this eyeliner is going to be face-liner soon enough," Dorian chastised her as she wiggled in her seat. He was currently applying her makeup, using liners and powders and lipstick and rouge. He had insisted on assisting her when he heard that Vivienne would also be helping her get ready. Vivenne herself was not doing anything, but had lent her assistants to do Miriel's hair. They had parted her hair down the middle and pulled it back over the shaved sides of her head, disguising the undercut. The hair was then bunched into a bun that was decorated with a gold vine and leaf accessory.

Meanwhile, Dorian had taken a seat in front of Miriel, drawing expertly on her face.

"You are not wearing a mask, this means that your face must be impeccable." He had informed her.

"What's wrong with my face?"

"Nothing, you are beautiful…just not the beauty the Orlesians of this breed properly appreciate. They will see your tattoos as an indicator of being an outsider."

"Are…are you covering my Vallaslin?" She asked softly, fearing that he was covering up such an integral connection she had to her clan.

"No, you can still see the lines – faintly, but they're there. I am simply highlighting your other features, such as your eyes. You have exceptionally lovely eyes, not as lovely as mine of course, but lovely all the same."

"We cannot all be blessed with your beauty, Dorian. Some of us must settle for average," she said playfully. He scoffed and picked up a new brush that he used to sweep over her cheeks.

"You are hardly average," he set down his instruments and handed her a mirror, "there, gaze upon my work and be amazed." She took the mirror and just about dropped it when she saw herself.

"I-I don't even look like me," she murmured as she watched herself in the mirror. He hadn't covered her Vallaslin, true, but it was hardly noticeable with all the…dark smudges around her eyes and her lips! Creators her lips were the color of pomegranates and her skin seemed to glow and was that…glitter?

"Correction, you look like an enhanced version of yourself – the court version of you," Dorian explained as he turned toward the mirror and began to fix his own makeup. Miriel turned her head and tried out various expressions, including moving her head backwards and down so that her chin was now resting on the soft, wrinkled skin of her neck. Dorian looked back at her with shock and disapproval.

"What are you doing?" He asked and she slumped into the chair.

"Tell me I'm beautiful, Dorian," she said in a squeaky voice and he let out what he tried to pass as a scoff but came out more like a restrained snort of laughter.

"Do not slouch, my dear, it is undignified," Vivienne of course took that moment to glide into the room along with Josephine and Leliana all bedecked in their own finery. Vivienne wore a bold choice of all shimmering periwinkle with a large fanning collar, a dropped waist corset, and a figure hugging dress that lied about her age. An elaborate lace mask was attached to her typical horned headdress and Miriel found herself somewhat envious of the Enchanter. Say what you would about the woman, she could work Orlesian fashion like no other.

Leliana was in a conservative and rather practical pink dress that was rather forgettable if it wasn't for its obvious expensive construction and materials. Josephine was bedecked in a large eggplant ball gown, however, with puffy shoulders, long sleeves, and a white feather brooch upon her breast.

"You all look so…Orlesian," Miriel said, unsure on how to compliment human women on their finery. "Very pretty." She tried again.

"Did we not teach her proper compliments? Truly she will make a fool of herself at the ball if she does not know how to compliment people," Vivienne said as she sashayed into the room.

"I know compliments, I just wanted to actually be honest with people I trust," Miriel explained and Vivienne rolled her eyes.

"Darling, this is the _Game_ , absolutely no one can be trusted. So how about you try again?" Vivienne pressed and the elf huffed her displeasure but then schooled her features into a kind, biting smile.

"Madame de Fer! You are looking radiant as always. Lady Montilyet, Lady Nightingale, absolute visions of couture," Miriel said in a saccharine voice. Vivienne smiled and dipped her head slightly.

"Much better. Now darlings, the Duke will be here soon, we best go prepare," the three human women led Miriel out of the dressing chambers down to the foyer (vestibule? Antechamber? Why were there so many words for that same thing?). They descended the stairs to a sea of staring eyes. Cullen, Blackwall, Bull, and Varric were all clearly staring up at the three women descending the stairs. Miriel did not care for them, however, as she scanned the room for Solas. Her brow furrowed in confusion when she could not find him.

They finished their descent to a low whistle.

"Looking great ladies," Bull complimented, his eye then shifted to Dorian who was descending the stairs behind them. His smile broadened, but for once he didn't say anything. Miriel resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow, _how interesting_.

Varric pulled out his book and began to scribble a few notes, maybe even draw a few sketches of the dresses. Miriel looked around her and she grew even more confused, but also angry.

"Why is everyone wearing the same thing?" She asked in a low voice.

"We are acting a guarding force in the ball, a uniform is typically worn-

"YOU MADE ME DRESS LIKE THIS WHEN I COULD HAVE WORN PANTS?!" Miriel demanded from the women standing behind her. Vivienne rolled her eyes.

"Oh hardly. You are the Inquisitor, a uniform like everyone else's would have sent the wrong message. I am Court Enchantress, no simple uniform will do for me, and both Lady Montilyet and Leliana are already known to the court – dressing for the parts is necessary. Now, stop making that face, you'll crack your makeup."

"What about Cassandra? She's a noble and she's not wearing a dress?"

"I threatened to incarcerate all of them if they even brought the subject up," Cassandra said.

"I should have thought of that," Miriel muttered, filing the idea away for future use.

Knocking at the door startled everyone and a servant let a very dressed up very Orlesian man in.

"Good evening, Inquisition, I hope I am not too late," Duke Gaspard de Chalons said, his accent thick. His mask was gold and off putting with its supposedly laughing, squinting eyes. Unease churned in Miriel's stomach, but she stepped forward with a polite smile.

"Not at all. It allowed us ladies time to primp. It is certainly apparent that you made use of that time as well, Grand Duke," Miriel purred and the man smiled in response.

"Perfection is not rushed, but it arrives in a timely manner. Come! Before we embarrass ourselves at court," he held out his arm and Miriel took it even as the unease grew within her.

"That would be a national disaster!" Miriel exclaimed dramatically. The Duke laughed.

"You jest but do not underestimate the seriousness of the Game, Inquisitor. I once knew a girl who was ostracized for fainting because of her corset and missing the first ten minutes of the Allemande," Gaspard explained as he ushered Miriel to his carriage. Her skin prickled and her hair stood on end as she stared into the small empty carriage.

"Oh Grand Duke, have you met Varric Tethras? The famous writer of _The Champion of Kirkwall_ and those riveting _Hard In Hightown_ stories," Miriel quickly said as she smiled at Varric and waved him over. His brow furrowed confusion but he crossed the relatively short space from the carriage he was supposed to be riding in to the Duke's.

"Ah yes! Varric Tethras, I am quite the fan actually," Gaspard answered happily.

"Inquisitor Lavellan, Grand Duke, is there something I can help you with?" Varric asked.

"Ah, yes! The Grand Duke here was telling me how much he loves your stories," Miriel explained excitedly, not so subtly ushering Varric and the Duke into the carriage while she followed behind. She purposefully sat next to Varric, keeping her knees close to the dwarf.

"Really? I didn't think my stories would be popular in Orlais, much less with the Grand Duke himself."

"Popular? The entire court has read your stories! The ladies quite fancy that raunchy tale, what is it? _Swords and Shields_?"

"No shit! I-I mean, really?" The Duke and Varric kept up conversation about Varric's stories and raging popularity in Orlais for the entire duration of the trip to the Winter Palace. It was a blessing, really, and slowly the uneasiness that had plagued Miriel was beginning to subside. She had no idea why no one had failed to inform her that it had been arranged for her to ride with the Duke privately, but she would have a word with Leliana and Josephine about this. That is if she could figure out why she was feeling uneasy.

Miriel shook her head slightly and kept up her smiling. Perhaps if she looked like she was okay, she would start feeling okay. The night was only just beginning and she was already feeling like she was a mouse in a viper's nest. _Oh Creators help me._

**

Everything was in place, just as he needed it to be. Solas had been kept busy and away from the main group of the Inquisition just to see to his own people. He had been so caught up in making sure the rotations and assignments were correct that he had almost missed the last carriage to the palace. He had made sure to quickly skip along and jump in along with a few of the other elves. They all looked at him with wide eyes when he jumped in, however. He knew none of them and by the way they looked at him, they were just more servants who were surprised to see a member of the Inner Circle in their presence.

"Messere!" One of the girls exclaimed as Solas remained in the coach. The carriage then lurched forward into motion and he supposed he would remain here for the duration of the travel.

"Good evening," he said politely to the three young women who were all clutching boxes of what he suspected were finery for either Vivienne or Miriel. _The Inquisitor, you mean the Inquisitor._

"You are not one of the serving men, are you?" One of the girls asked. She was particularly young and was quickly bumped the older girl sitting next to her.

"Hush, Tanna! This is Solas, Fade expert to the Inquisitor herself! Show respect. Good evening, ser," the older girl said. Solas smiled softly.

"There is no need to be so formal, please, call me Solas," he said politely and the older woman shook her head while the girl sitting next to Solas just sat in frozen silence, eyes wide and focused on the opposite wall.

"My apologies, ser, but I can't do that. You're important, manners dictate that I call you by your title," the girl protested.

"Ah, but I have no formal title. 'Fade expert' is an informal rank," Solas countered calmly.

"I heard a rumor that you like cake, ser," Tanna said suddenly. Solas turned to her, confused but in good spirits.

"And who told you this, da'len?"

"It was making the rounds through the quarters the other night. The Inquisitor came into the kitchens asking the chef to make more cake and mentioned something about her, and I am using her words, ser, 'Fade expert's sweet tooth'." Tanna explained. Solas sat back, shocked. And so wonderfully pleased. He felt his eyes soften and a dopey smile take over his face as his heart clenched. _Ma vhenan._

"Ah, then yes, I do have a sweet tooth," he answered. Tanna smiled as she opened the tin she was carrying and pulled out a small petit fours. It was a small pink square with a red rose on the top.

"These are strawberry, I think," she said as she held the tiny cake out for Solas. He took the small offering with a smile and popped it into his mouth. He did so love these tiny confections.

They spent the rest of the ride to the palace talking about various cakes and rumors Tanna had heard in the kitchens. He also learned the names of the other girls. Seri was the older girl and Deela was the girl Solas sat next to.

"Is it possible that you misconstrued Aeron's intent from the start? Is it possible that he only ever wished to pursue a platonic relationship?" Solas asked. Seri huffed and slumped back, all formal posture lost by the time they arrived at the palace.

"I guess, but he shouldn't have kissed me then!"

"Perhaps he was confused, or was doing what he believed you wanted him to do." Solas suggested and Tanna gasped in distress. "Da'len?" He asked, perplexed by the girl's reaction.

"Is that why you kissed Lady Lavellan on the balcony?!" Tanna demanded. Solas looked at the girl in surprise.

"How do you-

"Nienna was bringing up the linens to be changed when she saw you. I wouldn't be surprised if all of the elves in Skyhold know by now, girl likes to talk," Deela muttered. Panic shot through Solas, he had wanted to keep any relationship with Miriel, _the Inquisitor_ , private but that apparently had never been possible.

"Are you only interested in a platonic relationship, Solas? You shouldn't lead her on like that!" Tanna whimpered and Solas quickly shook his head.

"No, that is not why I kissed her." Solas answered softly, shifting awkwardly in his seat.

"Oh that's good. I have a bet on you two shacking up before all this is over and I would hate to lose out on that pot," Deela said as she reached over for another petit fours. Tanna slapped her hand away.

"Don't listen to Deela, Solas, I think it's romantic and sweet that you and the Inquisitor have feelings for each other," Tanna said and Solas suddenly felt exceptionally closed in by the coach. Tanna was a sweet girl, young and naïve, but sweet.

"Thank you, da'len," Solas said as the carriage came to a stop. The doors opened and Solas stepped out to see the incredibly opulent palace and its surrounding grounds. The palace itself was tall with high windows, abounding balconies, towers, and curved ceilings that gave it an imperial and imposing look that he was sure daunted any newcomer. Any newcomer like Miriel, _the Inquisitor_. He suddenly realized that in all his preparations and dallying he had failed to attend to her and ease her into the atmosphere. It certainly wasn't required for him to do so, but he knew that she would be feeling terribly overwhelmed by the new experience.

A desire to find her quickly surged through Solas and he set off, heading towards the large palace. His ears and quiet demeanor allowed him to quietly slip through the crowds relatively unnoticed and soon he was inside the main building. The vestibule was quite large and nice, he supposed, though it could never rival the sheer ridiculous extravagance of the entrance halls the Evanuris had constructed in the Empire.

He scanned the room, searching for her when he heard the announcements echoing from the ballroom. He turned to the door and quietly slipped into the room, moving in the shadows behind patrons as he did so.

"And now presenting: Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons, and accompanying him, Lady Inquisitor Lavellan!" The announcer cried and Solas angled himself to get a better view of what was transpiring on the floor. Solas's eyes scanned the stairs until he spotted her. His eyebrows involuntarily rose, his mouth parting as he saw her draped in golden finery. She looked like a golden statue paying homage to a warrior goddess come to life. His breath caught in his throat as she glided down the stairs and took the arm of the Grand Duke. The human smiled broadly at having such a lovely creature adorn his arm, though in reality it was Miriel who was carting the Duke around like an accessory. She walked with more grace and subtly than the Duke could ever hope to achieve, smiling and already winning the court over with only her striking countenance.

"Vanquisher of the rebel mages of Ferelden, crusher of the vile mage apostates of the Mage Underground! Champion of the blessed Andraste herself!" The announcer continued. Solas scoffed at the description. She was hardly the crusher of a rebellion, more like creating legitimate claims to autonomy for a repressed group.

The Grand Duke leaned in and whispered something in Miriel's ear, to which she gave a small laugh as she waved to her already growing adoring public.

"There you are! Lady Elfy-Tits was looking for you!" Sera suddenly appeared next to Solas and grabbed his arm, pulling him back to where the rest of the Inner Circle was. Cassandra looked over at him with a disappointed expression.

"Where have you been?"

"Yeah Chuckles, something is going on with Buttercup," Varric chimed in. The announcer called for the Commander.

"Did she say anything?" Solas asked as he watched Miriel reach the end of the floor, arm still linked with the Grand Duke. _Has the human done something?_ The very thought sent spikes of unbridled rage through Solas. He quickly stamped down the emotion and turned back to Varric.

"Nah, she wouldn't say, but something is definitely going on," the dwarf answered, "she all but dragged me into the carriage she was sharing with the Duke." Solas's gaze was drawn back to the Duke and he scowled at the man.

"Ooooh look out, Baldy's aaaangry," Sera tittered, giggling maniacally. Solas took a deep breath and watched the other advisors walk across the floor, joining the Inquisitor and the Duke. After the customary greetings were carried out, Solas moved across the room, exiting the ballroom and entered the corridor alongside the garden. He figured that Miriel would eventually cross here and it would be a practical out of the way location to confront her about whatever was happening between her and the Duke.

"Would you like a drink, ser?" A servant asked. Solas turned his head to see a young man with a servant's cowl over his head and ears. No mask covered his face, but he kept his face hidden by keeping it bowed and shrouded in shadow.

"What are you serving?" Solas asked.

"A white wine, messere," he answered and Solas nodded. The wine would certainly compliment the atmosphere.

"Very well." The man poured the drink and handed the glass to Solas. He then leaned in close to Solas for a brief moment to whisper, "all is in place, we wait on your command." The man was then gone. Solas sighed and leaned back against the pillar. He swirled the wine in the glass as he contemplated tonight. Things had to go accordingly, the price was too high for it not to. He sipped the wine. He had to be precise in the timing to make sure that Briala's agents would not indeed conflict with his overly much. As impatient as he had been feeling lately to get this done, he did not actually wish for bloodshed over this. Briala was a woman trying to help her people by any means, an admirable attitude and goal.

Another sip of the wine and he was scanning the crowd, noticing that the Iron Bull had set up a similar roost in the vicinity. He had somehow acquired an entire bowl of spiced nuts. Solas shook his head and watched as men and women alike paced back and forth, fake smiles plastered to their faces as surely as their masks. They flirted for power, prestige, sex all the while the world around them shifted and turned on multiple axes. They were either blissfully unaware of the imminent threats and changes or were simply vain enough to believe that these events would not affect them. _It is comforting to see that at least some things do not change._

He observed the people of the masquerade until he felt Miriel approach. The magic of the Mark made his skin tingle with awareness and he turned his head to see his golden huntress, a bright spot in the murkiest of waters. Even with her hair slicked back and her face covered in paints, she was easily recognizable, from the slight hints at tattoos on her left arm to her full lips, to the way she effortlessly glided across the room. She was one of the smallest women in the room, yet she commanded the most attention as her leg darted out from the slit in her dress, giving a teasing glimpse at warm, supple skin.

Miriel was quick to spot him. Her eyes met his and he felt his heart clench in worry. There was a faint panic etched into the wideness of her eyes and he slipped farther into the shadows by the pillar, noting that the only ones who could see him now were her and the two elven servants who were arguing over a chipped carafe. She saw his cue and followed him into the corner.

"Where have you been?" She hissed immediately. Her voice wavered and her eyes kept darting to any passerby.

"I was preoccupied with a magical matter," he answered carefully. Taking a risk, he reached down and took one of her gloved hands in his, holding it firmly. She squeezed it, gripped it as if it was a lifeline. Her eyes kept moving until he angled his head until his gaze locked hers.

"Look at me, vhenan, just look at me. Breathe," he made sure to keep their eyes locked as he began to breathe deeply with her. He counted in, 1 2 3 4, hold, 1 2 3 4, out, 1 2 3 4. They repeated this for a minute until some of the panic seemed to ease from her face.

"There is danger _everywhere,_ Solas," she whispered, "that woman over there? With the blue and pink feathers? She has a dagger up her sleeve. That man over there has four poison rings. The man with the cane-

"Inquisitor, they may be armed, they may be dangerous, but listen to me – none of them are hunters. They play the Game of politics and scheming, but none of them know the intricacies of a true hunt. They may be dangerous, but you are _lethal_." He said low. She cocked her head slightly at the idea but then shook her head.

"This is their territory-

"And you are their Hunter. This is nothing more than a foreign forest. Learn its roosts and pathways and you will find that these painted people are no more than the beasts of your forests." She paused for several moments after he explained her purpose. She then smiled broadly and straightened her back.

"Nothing more than beasts? I thought de-personalizing people was against your morals, dear Solas," she murmured.

"We sometimes must take regrettable measures to achieve our goals," he answered. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"I am a Hunter. I have prey to stalk and these people are no more than pea-hens," she said before opening her eyes once more.

"Ma serannas, Solas. I-I needed that."

"Now I must ask: did anything happen with the Grand Duke?" Solas was unsure of what exactly he would do if something had occurred. Miriel thankfully shook her head.

"No. I suppose I just...it's like Val Rayoux but worse," she tried to explain and he understood. This world was completely new and she was being thrown to the wolves with barely enough to properly fend off attacks. It was astonishing that she was doing as well as she was already.

"I see. There are structures that will allow you to climb to the roof, if needed."

"Thank you. I may make use of them, if I can manage to sneak away from the party," she grumbled and he smiled

"You are sneaking right now, if I am not mistaken."

"Oh hush, wait…are you _drinking_?" So she noticed the glass in his hand. He looked at the drink and smiled.

"I am. It would look amiss if I refused the drinks offered to me, after all," he explained. She nodded her understanding then looked up and frowned.

"And what in the world is _that_?" Ah yes, the hat, a wonderful silent protest against the tyranny of the empire.

"It is actually a historical reference-

"It's _hideous_ ," she intoned before she leaned back silently, hand on her chest as she realized what she just said. "Oh Creators, I'm turning into Vivienne. Ir abelas, Solas. I need to…I need alcohol." He offered the white wine and she took, downing the contents in a very unladylike gulp.

"I would not suggest intoxication, Inquisitor," he teased gently.

"Liquid courage, lethallin, liquid courage," she patted his arm then but the edges of her lips were still tugged down.

"Is something wrong?" He asked and she sighed, staring at the Inquisition uniform he was wearing.

"I had robes made for you, did you not like them?" She asked softly.

"No, I actually quite liked them. However, a uniform such as this will help me blend in much more easily," he explained. Her mouth twitched and she let out a small sigh but nodded her head.

"Of course, that makes sense. I am afraid I must go mingle now, wish me luck," she turned from him, about to leave.

"Not mingle, _hunt_ ," he corrected and she smiled wickedly.

"You're right. I must go hunt." And with that she left him, moving elegantly through the crowds. He watched her as she spoke to coiffed men and women from various stations, from the lower lords and ladies to even members of the Council of Heralds. It was to be a most eventful night.

"More wine, ser?" another servant asked and Solas allowed his glass to be refilled.

"Thank you," he said before the girl moved away. An eventful night indeed.

**

Climbing the garden wall was difficult while wearing a dress, no matter how Miriel maneuvered herself. She had managed to slip away from the party, thanks to a marvelous distraction provided by Dorian in the courtyard. She was not climbing for her own benefit, however. She was climbing because she had heard the servants talking about issues with the drops and meetings Briala's agents were having. Gaspard had warned her that Briala had people all over the palace, making it sound like this wasn't the norm – apparently she was misled. Everyone had spies here, all skulking and lurking about to soak up gossip, malicious rumors, and really anything that could be used to their patron's advantage. Miriel would not have been surprised if some of the spies were Leliana's. Some of them were definitely Vivienne's.

With a muffled curse she hoisted herself up over the ledge of the library's balcony. She checked her surroundings to make sure that she was indeed alone and not being pursued by anyone. Alright, good. She began to slink over to the library when she saw a small blood stain on the marble floor. She cocked her head to the side and walked over to the small spot. It was so miniscule that most wouldn't notice it, and judging by the striations of moisture on the stone, someone had tried to clean up. She dabbed her finger in the blood and frowned – it was still wet.

There was another droplet about a meter away. She quickly walked over to it, notice a few more spots, almost as if there was a splatter of some sort. Interesting. The pattern led her to an intricate door that most definitely had the left over marks of a bloody handprint. Small holes in and around the handle showed that specific items created a key. _Ah, the little Halla figurines._ Miriel had wondered what purpose the little statues served other than being adorable, _and somehow vaguely racist considering that they're Orlesian._

She inserted the tiny statues into the holes and after hearing a click, pushed the door open. Miriel inhaled a gasp as she saw what lay inside. There were at least six butchered bodies, full of cuts, slashes, and punctures from various weapons. Blood seeped into the floor forming large pools. The people were all dressed prettily and there was no stench of death yet. This was a fresh kill. Taking a deep breath, Miriel stepped into the room, careful not to touch the blood. _The ball just got more interesting._

**

Revasala stood in the shadows, watching the Inquisitor carefully. She was on lookout while the mages did their work in the library. It was bad enough that they had to avoid the spirit, it was quite another knowing that the Inquisitor herself was now unintentionally breathing down their necks. Fenedhis.

The elven woman stepped carefully in the glorified closet where the dead Orlesians lied. Revasala smirked. The humans had been quick to die when the Venatori had found them, no cries for help or anything – just quick, quiet death for the pompous overly dressed idiots that tried to scheme in a Game much more vast than they could even fathom.

The Inquisitor stood up and left the closet, closing it quietly behind her, making sure that she too was silent and quick. She left no trace – no one would be able to know she was there. Revasala had to admit the woman was good, talented even. But she was no Elvhen, no matter how her ears pointed or how well she wore her Vallaslin. She knew nothing of what it meant to actually be Elvhen, to see the fall of the Empire and know that it was the only survivable outcome.

Revasala turned back to the other modern elves in the room, all of their faces bare except for one. He had told her his name at some point, but Revasala couldn't remember it. Vallaslin marked him and he had refused the gift Fen'Harel had offered. The Dread Wolf may have respected the decision but Revasala could not begin to fathom why the boy would keep it. She was once a slave, she _knew_ what it truly meant to carry Vallaslin. She knew what it meant to shield the face of shame, lines etched into skin to indicate subservience, not defiance.

"My spirit is free, that is enough," Felassan had said. But it hadn't been enough for her. She needed more and Fen'Harel had given it to her. Their savior, their guide into freedom. He had blessed her with a new face, taken away the shame and the disgrace. And so she had pledged herself to his cause, to the cause of all Elvhen and to freedom.

This boy knew nothing of what his face meant, but at least his magical prowess was useful.

"Are we done here?" She asked.

"The Eluvian needs more energy to be overridden," he said, hands glowing as he fed the mirror. Revasala huffed and added her own magic to the Eluvian. The mirror began to glow and three agents quickly rushed into the Crossroads.

"We still need to find the crutch Eluvian, the one Briala prefers," the boy said as he lowered his arms and the mirror dulled once more.

"I have an idea," Revasala replied, "but first we must get out of the library without the Inquisitor noticing us." She glanced back to see the woman moving delicately through the space, reading scattered papers and occasionally stashing them in her dress. Odd woman.

A great bell sounded through the entire palace and the Inquisitor's head snapped up. She then began to take off to the entrance of the library, muttering something about not being late to the dance.

**

Fights in the gardens, dress skirt hoisted up and wrapped around her waist, feet pounding against the marble as she chased a ridiculously dressed Tevinter – the Winter Palace was certainly more exciting than she had ever expected. She launched an arrow after the woman but the Vint was too fast and quickly ducked behind a corner.

"Get back here!" Miriel shouted as she gave chase. Iron Bull, Dorian, and Sera were also giving chase. Solas had opted to stay in the ballroom and knowing Sera, the girl had to get out and kill someone she was supposed to kill before she shivved a noble. _Can't really blame her._

Miriel rounded the corner, notching another arrow when the harlequin suddenly dropped dead from the dagger lodged into her skull.

"That was my kill," Miriel grumbled as she walked over to the bastard.

"Fancy meeting you here," a heavily accented voice suddenly said. Miriel looked up and saw, not much to her surprise, Ambassador Briala. Her garb was simple, a defiant strike against the primped up nobles. _And I couldn't have made that statement why, Vivienne?_

"Inquisitor Lavellan. Slumming it in the servants' quarters with the rest of your people for once?"

"Have people seriously forgotten that I am Dalish and lived in a forest for almost my entire life? I didn't have my own bed until I came to the Inquisition," Miriel replied to the city elf. Seriously, 'slumming it with the rest of your people'? Like she was somehow constantly putting herself above others. It was not her idea to sleep in a tower.

"Ah of course. We have not been properly introduced, have we? I am Ambassador Briala." The woman bowed a bit and Miriel returned the favor, dipping her head in acknowledgment.

"You've got good aim, Ambassador. I am Inquisitor Miriel Lavellan."

"Welcome to the Imperial court, friend! This is our diplomacy at work."

"Good policy with this lot. I too like to employ the 'lodge sharp objects in the heads of the Venatori' method myself," the rush and familiarity of battle had eased some of Miriel's earlier issues with the Ball.

"You cleaned this place out. It will take a month to get all the Tevinter blood off the marble. I came to save or avenge my missing people, but you've beaten me to it. So…the Council of Heralds emissary in the courtyard…that's not your work, is it?"

"He was dead when I got here. The blade has the crest of the Chalons family on it, though," Miriel said. She would not outright accuse Gaspard, that would show her hand and if there was one thing she learned about human games it was to never show your hand.

"I knew it. I knew Gaspard was smuggling in Chevaliers, but killing a council emissary? Bringing Tevinter assassins into the palace? Those are desperate acts, Gaspard must be planning to strike tonight." So the Ambassador was pointing the finger at the Grand Duke while the Duke pointed back at the Ambassador. Granted, there was more incriminating evidence against Gaspard – but the fact Briala knew Gaspard was smuggling in Chevaliers and not informing the guards or the Inquisition was pretty damning as well. Miriel filed all of the information away, unsure of how exactly she could use it but confident that her spymaster would have a few ideas.

"Are you sure he's behind this? He was too…easygoing for a man plotting treason." Miriel pointed out.

"Don't let his charm blind you. He's Orlesian. That smile is his mask," oh great, more masks. How many layers did the Orlesians wear exactly? And who actually told the truth? Miriel was beginning to think that the truth was some far off distant concept that hadn't touched the Court in some time. Perhaps it was taking a vacation in the Alienages.

"I misjudged you, Inquisitor. You might be an ally worth having. What could you do with an army of elven spies at your disposal? You should think about it."

"You know how to make a sales pitch, Ambassador. I'll give you that," no way was Miriel committing to anything now. Briala, for all of her pretty talks, was still much of an unknown to Miriel. They shared ears, but did they truly share the same desire to elevate all elven people? Or was Briala another conniving Orlesian after her own gains like Gaspard? At least Miriel knew with Celene what she was getting into – a skilled and powerful diplomat, albeit racist and tending towards suppression instead of equality to maintain that powerful status. Miriel _wanted_ to believe in Briala, but she was unsure if that was wise.

"I do, don't I? I know which way the wind is blowing. I'd bet coin you'll be part of the peace talks before the night is over. And if you happen to lean a bit our way? It…could prove advantageous to us both. Just a thought." Briala turned from Miriel and then jumped down from the balcony.

Miriel sighed and turned back into the apartments. There were still rooms to check, and someone had said something about a vault full of baubles. The idea of stealing from the Empress was oddly entertaining and so Miriel walked through opulent estate.

"Pffbt, always about _elves_ , friggin' users," Sera grumbled along the way. For once, Miriel found herself in some agreement with the girl.

"The vault should be in here…" Miriel said as she entered the private quarters of the Empress. A Venatori mage standing in the middle the room did a double take before launching a rather lackluster fireball at Miriel. She dodged the missile, which made room for Bull to charge in and slam his axe into the mage, killing him instantly.

"Good one, Bull," Miriel commented as she sallied unconcerned into the room. It was another door that required the little statues and Miriel inserted them as needed. Pop, click, whoosh, and the door opened revealing a room piled high with beautiful luxuries. Dorian let out a low whistle as he entered the space.

"Well, at least she has good taste," the mage murmured in awe at the gold gilded paintings and curtains. Sera was quick to pile in and begin snatching tiny baubles indiscriminately. Miriel stood in awe of the horde. How was it that there were people stuck in grinding poverty while the Empress kept this wealth in her own private rooms? How could anyone so consciously deny others basic necessities such as food and houses while they lingered in more wealth than they could ever hope to spend? Miriel walked to the far wall where a large panting leaned against the wall, beside it stood a small silver plated table. Her hands ran over the surface, marveling at the smooth texture. Never in her wildest dreams would she have ever thought that she would one day touch something so extravagant. Her hand drifted down and opened the drawer. Miriel cocked her head to the side and reached in to pick up the rather plain looking necklace.

"Now what is something like this doing in here?" She asked, palming the token, rubbing her thumb against the smooth wood. _This is almost Dalish…but not exactly._

"Looks elfy. Hey, didn't the Empress and Briala used to knock knees?" Miriel looked over at Sera who was currently holding too many things to hide properly in her armor. Blood was smeared comically on her head and she didn't appear to care as she sidled up next to Miriel.

"Definitely elfy, city elfy though. Not like your forests with your birds and your deer shite."

"They are most certainly not together now…so why would this be here?" Miriel mused.

"Why indeed. It seemed that the Empress has let her heart slip out of her chest, how dangerous," Dorian commented. _Very dangerous,_ Miriel thought. If someone with malicious intent had found this, they could have exposed the Empress, ousted her from loving not just a woman, but an _elven_ woman, to the court. How far would the Empress have fallen? How quickly would someone displace her? And further, what of Briala's intent in all of this? Miriel had heard rumors that the Empress and Briala were involved but not why they had gone their separate ways. It was time she found out.

**

Miriel made her way back to the Vestibule, making sure to right her clothing before reentering the party. Thankfully any blood that had gotten on her dress was hidden or blended in with the burgundy of her skirt. Perfect.

She nodded her greets to the lords and ladies, smiling small at all of them. She even worked in a small wave. _Hello, adoring public._ It was astonishing how just a few well-placed words made everyone turn into mud in her hands. So pliable and so filthy. She had lost count of the number of people who had flirted with her. Unfortunately, most Orlesians had absolutely no idea how to flirt with an elf.

"You have such magnificent ears, Rabbit!"

"You are beautiful, even with those large eyes."

"What adorable little feet! They would look so fetching in shoes!"

"Golden, like my silk sheets." Okay, that one wasn't that bad, but still.

She was about to enter the hall to the entrance of the ballroom when she saw Solas, still leaning against that same pillar. He had another wine glass, this one almost completely empty. His eyes were soft, the lines around his eyes crinkled in delight for once and not in frustration. His lips curved up in a rare smile and his entire body just seemed to rest peacefully against the pillar. Intrigued and very much distracted, Miriel walked over to him. He noticed her quickly and his smile grew to the point where he almost showed teeth, _astounding._

"I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events." He said happily. A shiver ran down her spine as his voice lingered on the word 'sex.' Creators preserve her, but that voice!

"You seem more comfortable with a Grand Orlesian Ball than I'd have expected," she said, smiling as she watched him shift into a more upright position to talk to her.

"I have seen countless such displays in my journeys in the Fade. The powerful have always been the same. Only the costumes change."

"I wish the current costumes were more comfortable."

"I once saw a memory of one such event where the women were expected to wear precisely eighteen layers of whatever fabric was in fashion at the time." He reminisced and Miriel balked at the thought, but her mind quickly turned to mischief.

"Eighteen layers?" She began, dropping her voice low so that only he could hear her, "and how many layers would you like to see me in, Solas?" His face, already flushed from the wine, turned an even bright shade of red. His flickered with wicked intent, however, as he leaned forward with a devious smile.

"I rather like the boots you are wearing…just the boots," his voice was dark, sultry, and completely playful all at the same time. She giggled and blushed in response.

"You know, drunk looks good on you. It sounds even better."

"I am not drunk," he corrected and she rolled her eyes.

"Fine, then very tipsy at least," she compromised. She quickly looked around, checking to see if anyone was looking. When she was satisfied that no one was paying attention, she moved and pulled him into the shadows. It was a small space so they were pressed up closely against each other.

"Vhenan?" He whispered. She reached up and caressed his face. He leaned into the touch soundlessly, his eyes incomprehensibly affectionate as he stared into hers. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her softly.

"You taste like sweet wine," she whispered.

"You just taste sweet," he replied before kissing her again. Her hands were on his chest and per usual, his had found their way to her behind.

"How have you been treated here? No one has been…you know, racist, ignorant jackoffs?" She said not so eloquently. He chuckled low and kissed her cheek.

"The Orlesians do not know quite what to make of me. I have kept to myself, for fear of giving them some purchase to cling to. The food and drink are excellent, however, and the servants have been happy to refill my glass."

She giggled, "I can see that. I was also wondering if you had any interest in dancing?" She asked, eager to feel him move her across the dance floor once more.

"A great deal…although dancing with an elven apostate would win you few favors at court."

"Right, and kissing one in an alcove is so much better."

"I concede your point. Perhaps once our business here is done?" He suggested and she smiled.

"Good, I look forward to it."

"As do I. Now I believe we should vacate this alcove, lest someone think we have completely abandoned the party altogether." Solas moved so that just his face was illuminated, revealing a smear of dark lipstick on his lips. She quickly pulled him back, stuck her thumb in her mouth, and then proceeded to wipe the lipstick off of his lips.

"You have lipstick on your lips, I am just getting rid of it."

"I was about to say, this is quite the odd Dalish ritual."

"Oh hush you," she teased back. Satisfied that the lipstick on him was righted she turned to leave, then realized that her own lipstick might be tarnished. "How is my lipstick?"

"Fine," he answered.

"Just fine?"

"Ravishing, just like the rest of you. Now go on, you have hunting to do." He gave her a little swat to her tush, making her squeak in surprise. She turned around and shot him a playful nasty look before heading off to the ballroom.

**

Blackmail, secrets, a hidden love affair – all were on the menu for the night it seemed. Miriel strode through the royal guest wing in awe of all of the backstabbing and concealed happenings. Really, how did anything actually get done if all of the nobles and royalty were all busy figuring out how to one-up each other in a ridiculous game? No wonder Orlais had descended into chaos, the people were ignored while the uptight and rich shut themselves inside gilded halls full of murder and deceit. At least the punch was good.

The Anchor suddenly flared in her palm and she cried out in surprise. It didn't hurt, but it itched worse than that time she had fallen into a poison ivy bed. She shook her hand and headed towards where she could feel the steady pulse of a Rift that was not quite open yet. She threw the doors open to see a contingent of Venatori surrounding a rather disgruntled looking man and the Rift. On the balcony above stood the Duchess Florianne, her smile crude and affect condescending. Miriel was not too terribly surprised that she was the one behind all of this, she had after all had actively pushed Miriel into specific directions. She had been so very eager to help, which only meant that her sweetness was to cover up any sort of poison she was wielding.

"Inquisitor! What a pleasure! I wasn't certain you'd attend. You're such a challenge to read. I had no idea if you'd taken my bait."

"Of course the woman with the bows on her dress is involved with this," Miriel replied. Florianne looked at the Inquisitor with barely concealed malice at the insult of her dress. _Never insult an Orlesian's sense of fashion,_ Vivienne had said, _she's with the Venatori, I believe that calls for an exception._

"Such a pity. You could almost be Orlesian. If you were just a little quicker and not so tacky. It was kind of you to walk into my trap so willingly. I was so tired of your meddling. Corypheus insisted that the Empress die tonight, and I would hate to disappoint him."

"Why kill the Empress? What does Corypheus want to achieve?" Miriel asked. Any insight to her foe, even from another foe, was welcome.

"Celene's death is a stepping stone on the path to a better world. Corypheus will enter the Black City and claim the Godhood waiting for him. We will cast down your useless Maker and usher in a united world, guided by the hand of an attentive god."

"Right, and what exactly do you get out of this?"

"The world of course! I'll deliver the entire south of Thedas, and Corypheus will save me. When he has ascended to godhood, I will rule all of Thedas in his name." So that's what she wanted – the world bowing at her feet, and she was delusional and prideful enough to think that she was important enough for Corypheus to spare her. Wonderful. Her pride would blindside her, then, allowing Miriel to slip through easily and strike her before allowing the Empire to descend into chaos.

"You're not being kind, Florianne. He's got to get used to disappointment."

"But not today, I think," _you don't actually think, Duchess, if you had, you would have realized that you allowed me the upper hand on the battle field._

"In their darkest dreams, no one imagines I would assassinate Celene myself. All I need is to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike. A pity you will miss the rest of the ball, Inquisitor. They'll be talking about it for years. Kill her, and bring me her marked hand. It will make a fine gift for the Master." The Venatori then unleashed a hail of arrows that Miriel dove under, rolled and stood up to rip open the Rift. Demons that immediately came through such Rifts were crazed and would attacked anything. They could benefit from the chaos and the ensuing carnage against the Venatori. The Veil ripped open in a brilliant flash of light, ushering in wraiths, two rage demons, and a despair demon that screeched as if someone had just poured boiling water on its head.

"Vishante kaffas!" One of the Venatori yelped as he was flung back by a rage demon. It roared up as Iron Bull charged it and proceeded to bludgeon its body. Dorian concentrated his fire on Despair, burning through the icy shield it had brought up and was now flinging deadly ice spikes at Miriel. The elf was running throughout the courtyard, flinging her daggers at the wraiths, picking them back up after they were dispelled and then throwing them at the remaining Venatori who had not been dispatched by the demons. Sera let loose a torrent of arrows in quick succession at the other rage demon, landing quick jabs and punctures to its flaming hide. The girl laughed as she dodged its advances, now aflame herself from a flask of fire. She beat the creature down in a brilliant display of flames, color, and a most gruesome resulting explosion, coating the girl in some sort of fade goo.

"UGH!" She cried in horror at the remnants of the Fade now clinging to her. Bull roared as his own rage demon fell, gurgling pitifully as it fell to the ground, flames sputtering out until it was mothering more than a scorch mark on the stone floor.

Miriel ran and leapt, landing on the still screeching despair demon. It somehow screeched even more loudly as it collapsed to the ground with Miriel's blade rammed into its skull. It flailed and twitched until Miriel stuck an arrow into the opening of the hood. It ceased moving altogether and simply melted into a puddle of water with its dank robes lingering. Miriel reached her hand back and the Rift sputtered and groaned before closing altogether. The courtyard was suddenly dark once more and it would have been quiet if it were not for the swearing and terribly obvious cowering the Ferelden man was doing in the corner.

"Those – those were demons, weren't they?" he said in astonishment, looking at the goo, scorch marks, and the puddle that still lingered.

"He's not as dumb as he looks," Miriel mumbled as she patted her dress down. Had to retain that impervious flawless look after all.

**

Revasala walked through the Crossroads, quickly dispatching of Briala's agents. She was under orders to not kill, so she just knocked them out, leaving a trail of bodies for the boy and the other agents to clean up. She walked up to the great Eluvian all of the agents of Fen'Harel had been working towards. She held up her hand, eyes glowed bright as she locked into the magic. It swirled into her, like the Fade but more distant. It felt like being alive again, it felt like being _Elvhen_ again and it was the sweetest taste of what the world could be. It was light and life. It was meaning and purpose to a chaotic world that no longer made any sense. It was her hope at becoming free from the shackles of the Veil.

She had escaped the Evanuris once, ran into the warm embrace of Fen'Harel. He had held her, so small and fragile back then, broken and beaten. He had touched her face and smiled.

"Ar lasa mala revas," he had said and she had wept as she clutched his robes. She had promised herself that day to never let another bind her as her the Evanuris had, she promised that all that she was and all that she ever would be was for her to decide. And she had decided to follow him, the man who had broken every shackle that had ever been placed on her.

She pushed back at the mirror, pushing and forcing her will unto it. It would bend to her and she would take this network for him. He worked for freedom from all the shackles that kept the People bound. First the Evanuris. And now the Veil.

As she whispered the words into the mirror, she felt a key in her shackles turn. _One step closer._

**

Solas strode through the abandoned wing heading towards what he hoped to be the crutch Eluvian – the one that had originally been turned with the Keystone. With his and Revasala's power, they could overpower the binding magicks and reroute the power to himself. With this network he could resume his work, could resume his somehow never ending task. Serve the people. Save them. It was exhausting work, but work that must be done, so he walked through the halls, his feet silent as he had removed the uncomfortable boots.

He moved quickly, entering a dark room that only illuminated by the light the large Eluvian standing proudly, displaced in the lavish Orlesian sitting room. With a deep breath, he stepped into the mirror, sighing in nostalgia at the ancient magicks swirling around him, carrying him into the Crossroads. The Crossroads unfurled before him in a riot of color, his agents standing there, waiting for him patiently. Revasala approached him with a smile and a bow.

"Lord Fen'Harel, we have been expecting you," even after all these years her tone was subservient, her view on their relationship far too much like that of a god and a worshipper.

"Revasala, please, call me Solas," it was an age old debate between them, one that he was glad to fully engage in now that he was properly conscious.

"I shall not lie to myself what you are, Fen'Harel," _but I am not just Fen'Harel._ He thought, his mind wandering to the Dalish woman who made him feel so singularly like Solas that his old name felt…almost wrong. The old mantle felt old, worn, outdated, and somewhat inappropriate.

"Am I not also Solas?"

"You have been spending too much time with the Inquisitor," Revasala murmured and Solas quirked a brow at her. Her eyes widened as she quickly realized how she had just questioned him, "ah, that is, I mean you may be allowing her completely incorrect perspective of the Dread Wolf to color your personal perception of who you are, my Lord. I mean no offense."

"Not to me, but to her you do a great deal of offense," he replied and she snorted, rolling her eyes.

"She is Dalish, my lord, they insult themselves," quiet disapproval and offense for his vhenan rolled through him. He scowled deeply at his lieutenant before he realized that he had told Miriel the same thing, _they insult themselves._ How ironic it was then that he would take such offense on her behalf, on the behalf of the _Dalish_ , at his very own words.

"This is not why we are here. Have we gained access to the pivotal Eluvian?" He asked, walking forward. Revasala nodded as she followed him.

"Yes, all it awaits is your combined power," she said and he nodded.

"Good, and what was the pass phrase Briala and her people used?"

"'Fen'Harel enansal,'" Revasala said and Solas turned to her surprised.

"Really?"

"It seems irony likes to follow you, my Lord."

"Apparently." He approached the giant mirror, held up his hand and let out a steady stream of his power, warping, bending, curving it around the pool of magic held within the Eluvian. It reacted almost instantaneously, as if it recognized him. It most likely did, he had after all, walked these Crossroads extensively when he was younger. He grappled with the power for a moment, realizing that he was not as strong as he had been. But he pushed and pushed until he broke through, successfully wresting control of it and subsequently the main circuit of the Eluvians. He bound the magic to him and to him alone, murmuring a passphrase before leaving the Crossroads.

What a wonderfully successful night. Now he hoped that Miriel had been just as successful in her mission.

**

Shit shit shit shit shit shit. That was where the night had gone as Miriel raced through the royal quarters trying to get back to the ball before the Duchess could enact her plan.

Or should she let the Empress die? Let's see, as far as Miriel could see, she wanted Briala in power. That desire was more than simple elven solidarity and more along the lines of Briala actually caring about people who weren't dressed up in feathers or gold – she cared about people. But then, so did Celene, she just did it in a very different way. Celene was born to the game, born to these halls of treachery, death, and easy trading of life. Perhaps that was the reason for her casual disregard for life. But still, a casual disregard for life was still bad, no matter the reason. The true question was if Briala could actually mediate Celene. Miriel knew the elven woman could wrap Gaspard in a noose and he would bark happily, but Celene was tricky and so far had played the Game far better than any of the others. Celene was _Orlesian_ and could politick with the best of them. Briala, for all her charm and deceptive brilliance, was still an elf in an incredibly racist society. Could her policies even work without causing riots, without causing retaliation violence? Idealism was great, but for it to work it needed to be moderated by realism.

_Celene burnt down an alienage._

_Gaspard is a war monger._

_Could Briala actually work effectively and long term?_ What would happen when Briala was gone? When Gaspard was gone? What if Gaspard died before Briala and the next ruler was not so easily manipulated? What if Briala passed on and Gaspard undid all of her handiwork, or really any successor after Briala and Gaspard? How could there be effective long-term change when the monarchs were really short-term? _Make them beloved._ While Gaspard was charming as a demon, he was gruff and could not politick – which was key in this ridiculous society. Celene was already loved by most, and widely regarded as one of Thedas's most skilled diplomats.

While Miriel could never forgive the Empress for the burning of the alienage, she could not deny the immense strategic value she possessed. Dammit.

To be perfectly honest with herself, Miriel was a bit put out on having to decide this shit. She had to decide the fate of a nation's political scheme and possibly civil rights now? By the Creators, Thedas was truly fucked up if she was deciding this by saving a woman from assassination, or even considering letting that woman be assassinated. Shit.

Miriel and her troupe bounded through the halls, dispatching of any Venatori in their way.

"Just go, Miri! We'll hold them!" Dorian said as he threw a fireball down towards a new group of Venatori.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! Now go save Orlais!" The man shouted and without any further reassurance, Miriel took off towards the ballroom. _Thank Mythal that I didn't wear heels._ She righted her dress as she ran, slowing down only to throw open the door to the ballroom. Cullen was there in a heartbeat.

"Thank the Maker you're back! The Empress will begin her speech soon. What should we do?"

"Wait here, Cullen, I am going to have a word with the Grand Duchess," Solas's words of being a huntress echoed inside her head and she smiled as she began to stride towards the floor.

"What? There's no time! The Empress will begin her speech any moment!" he called after her, but she was already descending the steps to the dance floor.

"We owe the court one more show, Your Grace." Her voice was loud and clear, echoing off the gilded walls and into the ears of everyone in the room. Shocked gasps and whispers rang out as the Duchess turned around, and even she couldn't hide the shock in her eyes.

"Inquisitor," she said, her eyes wide.

"The eyes of every noble in the Empire are upon us, Your Grace. Remember to smile," Miriel purred, "This is your party. You wouldn't want them to think you had lost control." She climbed the stairs to the Duchess and the woman backed up like the cornered rat she was. Lovely.

"Who would not be delighted to speak with you, Inquisitor?" Florianne stammered.

"I recall you saying, 'All I needed was to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike.' When your archers failed to kill me in the garden, I feared you wouldn't save me this last dance. It's so easy to lose good graces. You even framed your brother for the murder of a council emissary. It was an ambitious plan. Celene, Gaspard, the entire Council of Heralds…all your enemies under one roof." Miriel circled the Duchess as a bird circled carrion. The Duchess was finished, she just didn't know it yet.

"This is very entertaining. But you do not imagine anyone believes your stories?" The Duchess attempting one final appeal to the brother that was smitten with Miriel? To the elf that Miriel had already said she would support? To the Empress who had every reason to suspect that the Duchess had planned to kill her? The Duchess was right, it was _very_ entertaining.

"That will be the matter for a judge to decide, cousin," Celene spoke at last, her voice icy cold as her eyes crinkled in distaste for her cousin. It was the Orlesian equivalent of spitting on someone, Miriel supposed.

"Gaspard? You cannot believe this! You know I would never," the man who would be emperor simply raised his hand and walked away.

"Gaspard?" With the descending guards, the Inquisitor at her back, and the entire court turned against her, Florianne had nowhere to go. It seemed that the woman finally realized she had been outplayed and sunk to her knees in disbelief.

"You lost this fight ages ago, Your Grace. You're just the last to find out." Miriel quipped before gesturing for the guards to take her away. The Inquisitor would deal with her later. Miriel turned to the Empress, confident and oh so sure of what she was about to do.

"Your Imperial Majesty, I think we should speak privately. Elsewhere." She said before walking up the stairs to the balcony off the ballroom. Celene, Gaspard, and Briala all followed, still in shock of what just happened.

"Your sister just attempted regicide in front of the entire court, Gaspard," Briala was the first to speak, most likely because she wished to avoid any implications in Florianne's plan. _Do not worry, Briala, I have this under control._

"You're the spymaster. If anyone knew this atrocity was coming, it was you." Gaspard shot back.

"You don't deny your involvement."

"I do deny it! I knew nothing of Florianne's plans! But you…you knew it all and did nothing!" This was a fair point, but a moot one.

"I don't know which is better: that you think I'm all-seeing or that you're trying so hard to play innocent and failing."

"Enough!" Celene interjected, the calm façade of earlier now replaced with the angry, vindictive face of a woman whose life was just threatened, "We will not bicker while Tevinter plots against our nation! For the safety of the Empire, I will have answers." And then they all turned to Miriel, excellent. She took a deep breath and stood straight her hands behind her back.

"I wouldn't have caught Florianne in time without Briala's help." She said and the three of them all seemed to do a double take. Briala quickly schooled herself into a smile while Gaspard scowled and Celene looked pleasantly shocked.

"You were working together?"

"Of course," Briala purred, not missing a beat. Miriel turned to Gaspard and narrowed her eyes.

"We have the note from your general ordering him to move troops into the palace grounds." Miriel then began to build her case against Gaspard, the two women had to be absolutely united and Gaspard could only get in the way.

"It was a defense choice. I expected betrayal here, just…not by my own sister." He lamented and Miriel almost felt bad for him. He was being used a scapegoat and she knew that the guilt would settle in later, but she had to ensure Orlais and its people were safe before saving her own feelings.

"Keep talking, Gaspard. Eventually you'll convince somebody." Briala was really keen to solidify her position then.

"There were also the threats he made to the Council of Heralds to bully them into giving him the crown."

"'Gaspard is a bully'? That is the worst you can say of me?" The Grand Duke taunted and Miriel sighed, no it really wasn't the worst she could say of him.

"And his mercenary captain will be happy to tell you all their plans for the coup tonight." That got the attention she wanted. Celene's eyes widened then narrowed in damnation of her cousin.

"Briala found out all of this for your sake, Celene," Miriel continued. Repairing this relationship was going to take work and apparently a lot of blackmail and white lies. In truth, Miriel had discovered all this, but Briala needed this support more than Miriel. Celene took a deep breath then turned to Gaspard.

"In light of overwhelming evidence, we have no choice but to declare you an enemy of the empire. You are hereby sentenced to death." The Empress declared. Guards entered the balcony and escorted Gaspard away. The Duke did not go quietly, Miriel gave him that, he cursed and swore them all to the Void and for the Maker to do terrible, terrible things to them. _Lucky for me I don't worship your god._

"I think Ambassador Briala deserves some reward for uncovering all of this." Miriel said.

"I can scarcely believe you did all of this for me," Celene murmured, her eyes softening as she looked upon Briala. The elven woman smiled back.

"Celene…" she began but Celene was turning back to Miriel.

"Thank you, Inquisitor. For all your efforts tonight," is that what uncovering a murderous, world threatening assassination plot is called? Creators, this place was the capital of understatements.

"I owe you my life. Orlais owes you its future." Ah, that was a better thank you. They then made their way back into the ballroom, Celene's huge dress swaying dramatically as the woman moved.

"You have done so much. For my people and for…us." Clearly referring to her and Briala of course.

"We won't forget this," Briala said.

"It was my pleasure. The two of you deserve to be happy," _and to improve the welfare of the people of Orlais, mainly the elves._

"We truly are," Celene beamed at her lady love and Miriel felt some relief – she had at least done the right thing in the pursuit of love. Hopefully a nation would not wither because of that.

"Come, stand with us, Inquisitor. We must give the good news to the nobility." Celene then approached her grand stand where she could preside of the ballroom. As she raised her arms, the nobles turned to her, eager to hear her news.

"Lords and ladies of the court, this is a night for celebration! Those who sought to poison our empire with treason have been brought to justice. It is a new age for Orlais. We shall build a world in which all men and women live in harmony. Let the cornerstones of change be laid. I introduce the newest member of our court: Marquise Briala of the Dales." Celene then stepped aside as Briala stepped forward to address the court.

"This is not just a victory in Halamshiral, or within the empire, or even for elves alone. This is a triumph for everyone. Over a thousand years ago in the Valarian fields, elves and humans together defeated the Imperium. We can do so much more now. We are greater than our ancestors ever dreamed. Together, we will start by saving our world from the enemy that took the Divine and tore the sky apart." Briala then turned to Miriel with a smile. With wide eyes and a surprised blush, Miriel turned to the crowd before her, a lump the size of Skyhold forming in her throat. With a deep breath, she stepped forward.

"This evening proves what we can accomplish through cooperation." She declared a bit too loudly, but the court seemed to respond well regardless.

"We are already tracking these Venatori agents. Soon they'll have no place to hide." Briala declared.

"But that is tomorrow. Tonight, we celebrate our newfound fellowship. Let the festivities commence!" With a great "hoorah!" the Orlesians began to talk, drink, and generally celebrate the renewed strength of the empire.

**

It was hours later after dancing with idiotic nobles who didn't realize that calling Miriel "Rabbit" was actually a slur and drinking barely alcoholic punch and Miriel was leaning over the banister of a large balcony, trying to get some air. Morrigan had just left having informed Miriel that surprise! She was joining the Inquisition. Great, more the merrier. To be perfectly honest, while the Orlesians and even some of her closest friends seemed to be reinvigorated by the triumph of the night, all Miriel felt was exhaustion. Extreme, bone deep exhaustion.

With a sigh she stood up straight. As she turned to reenter the ballroom, a garden lattice that went all the way up to the roof of the palace caught her eye. She quickly scanned the area for anyone that might be watching, then hurried over to the structure and climbed up to the roof. _Ah, much better._ There was a lovely cool breeze that awakened her skin and cleared her mind. She closed her eyes and let the air calm her.

"I'm not surprised to find you out here," that was Solas's voice and where there was Solas's voice, there was typically Solas. She opened her eyes and looked around until she found him standing closer to her than she had expected, rosy cheeked and smiling. The alcohol and the weather had reddened him and made him cheerful it seemed. And...

"You're wearing the robes I had made?" She asked, voice rising in happy surprise. The robes were a rich green with gold embellishment along the collar and cuffs. The outer robe fell just past his knees where elven styled boots similar to her own met them. His leather was black however, overlaying charcoal breeches. A belt was casually wrapped around his waist in his typical fashion and his wolf jaw pendant rested against his white-shirt with charcoal grey vest clad chest. His head was also wonderfully free of that hat. He was so handsome, her Solas.

"Now that the formal part of the evening is done…there is little need for me to blend in," he explained but she wasn't buying it.

"Thank you," she stood on the tips of her toes, aiming to kiss his cheek. He turned his head and his lips captured hers instead. She sighed/squeaked in surprise, leaning into him as he kissed her.

When they pulled apart, Solas watched her with the dorkiest smile. Seriously, dorky. His lips were in full toothless smile mode and his eyes were glittering happily, pupils dilated from the low light and alcohol. Rosy cheeks, and chin dimple completed the look and she absolutely adored it. He had never looked happier, her adorable fade expert.

"What are you looking at it?" She giggled and he shook his head in wonder.

"Just how beautiful you are and how amazing you were tonight," he said and the blush that he seemed to always give her returned in full force. One would think that such things would happen less now that they were now officially in some sort of romantic relationship. But no, he was still making her blush, still making her grin like an idiot whenever he complimented her. And she wouldn't have it any other way.

"I just saved an entire empire from an evil darkspawn magister plot, I mean, no big deal or anything. But did you see how _fabulous_ my dress is? Apparently I caused quite the scandal," she said sarcastically, giving a mock twirl. He laughed and caught her hands at the end of the twirl so that he stood behind her, framing her body with his.

"I did notice," he whispered and a shiver ran down her spine.

"Solas?" She asked, wondering what he was up to. He was in an odd mood, not that she was complaining, mind you.

"Dance with me, vhenan, before the music stops," he replied, suddenly spinning her around.

Miriel beamed, "I would love to." And once again they were dancing, him moving her about the roof in perfect tune with the distant sounds of the band. This dance was less sensual but all the more fun with him smiling at her the entire time and dramatically spinning her about. He pulled her in from a spin-out to bring her close and kiss the tip of her nose. She laughed on more than one occasion and even gasped and giggled a bit.

"Am I your dancing queen?" She laughed as he pulled her back into his arms. His eyes met hers and they were so full of love that she just about felt her heart break.

"You are mine," he replied before kissing her soundly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go! The Winter Palace. 
> 
> Miriel's outfit can be found here: http://scurvgirl.tumblr.com/mirielathalamshiral
> 
> This week turned out to be terrible for trying to write. Life got in the way of writing that Solas POV but I still want to do it, so maybe be on the look out at some point in the future? 
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading, commenting, leaving kudos, bookmarks! <3


	19. Dance With a (She) Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miriel and Solas slip away into the Fade after Miriel has a long day at court. SFW

The Inquisition was staying at a reclaimed estate in Halamshiral that was reserved for special guests of the crown. The family that had lived in this estate had died out forty years ago, and because of their remaining debt to the crown, their estates were taken over and now served as luxurious places of stay for the Empress’s high status guests who did not have estates of their own.

The estate was on the outer ring of the noble homes in Halamshiral, so it was less impressive than some of the inner estates, and it had a giant ass wall that hid the rest of the city from view. Boasting fifteen bedrooms, three parlors, and a swimming pool, the Borvaine Estate was large, conspicuous, and totally Orlesian.

Miriel woke in a bed that was bigger than her own back at Skyhold, with Antivan satin sheets embellished with gold mined from southern Nevarra. Her back ached from all the climbing and dancing from the previous and she couldn’t quite recall how she got in bed after the ball. She remembered it being late and the moonlight in the carriage as she slept on Solas…SOLAS. He must have carried her here. _Well, he should have stayed._ Waking up to being snuggled by him would have been ten times better than waking up alone in a strange, ornate room that had a stuffed snoufleur staring at her from across the room. _Creepy._

It was no matter though, she was awake and needed to dress. She emerged from the overly lush bed and stretched, trying to work the kinks out of her back. She was looking around for her bag containing her clothes when the door to her room opened and Josephine came in…followed by Madame Shirot.

“Creators no…” Miriel groaned. The seamstress was wheeling in a rack of dresses and their various parts, and right there was a corset. Josephine was holding her little board with its candle, quill at the ready.

“Good morning, Inquisitor!” Josephine greeted Miriel as a servant walked in and opened up all the curtains in the room.

“Why must you do this?” Miriel whispered as another servant approached her and began stripping her so she could change.

“Wonderful news! Empress Celene and Marquis Briala have invited you to the Winter Palace today to discuss a more formal alliance – mainly one that includes paperwork and contracts, and most likely trade agreements. We have come to get you ready, they wish to see you for lunch.” Josephine explained as the seamstress dressed Miriel. The corset was more of a simple waist-cincher, made of normal cotton cloth since it went underneath the pale pink dress. Her arms were once again bare since the dress was supported by two straps that draped over her collarbone and crossed in the back. It was a simple, light dress that was spiced up with a gold belt, and champagne colored opera length gloves.

Her makeup was simple, with only a light dusting of powders over her skin and a rosy tint to her lips.  Her hair was pulled into an Orlesian style braid that made her ears feel extremely large.

Soon she was completely dressed and refusing human shoes, “Briala doesn’t wear shoes, I don’t have to either.” She then walked out of the room in search of food.

“You are going to stain the dress!” Shirot reprimanded as Miriel wolfed down her breakfast. She glared at the elderly woman as she took a rather large bite of her oatmeal, _deal with it._ The seamstress huffed then walked out of the room, clearly upset she was not being heeded.

“They will most likely have finger sandwiches and other hors d’oeuvres at the luncheon, Lady Lavellan, you do not need to eat all of that, surely.” Josephine murmured in awe as she watched Miriel eat her food with gusto. Solas then entered the kitchen, looking fresh faced and content.

“Why does everyone want to dictate what I eat? Solas, am I fat?” Miriel asked and the man in question froze as he reached into a cupboard to pull out a plate.

“You are a very beautiful woman, Inquisitor,” he then closed the cupboard and made to exit the kitchen quickly, but Miriel was quicker.

“Yes, but do you think I’m fat?” She insisted and he seemed to be genuinely nervous as he looked around, finding himself surrounded by women.

“No, Inquisitor, I do not believe you to have an excess of fat on your person. Now if you excuse me, I need to…perform a mana cleanse.” Before she could say anything, Solas left. Miriel turned to Josephine in the room, confused and concerned. She looked down at her oatmeal, suddenly put off by it. She stuck her spoon in the still half-full bowl and pushed it away.

“All right then…Josephine, what do we want out of these talks?” Josephine’s eyes lit up at Miriel’s question, and she quickly pulled up a stool to sit next to her to prattle on about what would most benefit the Inquisition.

**

The luncheon turned into an early dinner…then a late supper. Celene and Briala were so in love and that was really great…but they talked more about how they were excited to be taking their upcoming summer in Val Chevin than actually discussing trade or the alliance. Eventually Josephine just left with the Orlesian advisors and Council of Heralds to hash out the details while Miriel had entertained the Empress and the Marquise.

By the time the Inquisition returned to the Estate the sun had set. The place was still aglow with lights, but Miriel didn’t really care. She was exhausted from having to deal with the overly happy couple for _hours_. She had started fantasizing about the overly plush bed during dinner, which was when she knew she had to get out of there. The carriage ride back to the Estate was not as relaxing as the previous night’s, however, seeing as instead of Solas sharing the space with her, it was Josephine who just would not shut up about the amazing trade deals she had wrangled out of the Empire. Miriel was happy that this was such a successful outing, but she did not appreciate being a figurehead for the operation.

Whatever, the point was that it was done and the alliance was all formalized and in writing. The Empress was alive and Orlais was not about to descend into chaos like Corypheus wanted. The big bad guy had been successfully thwarted and the Inquisition had gained a powerful ally. _We are on a roll,_ Miriel thought as she yawned, much to Josephine’s chagrin.

“Sorry, Josie, but I am exhausted.” She was also strangely not hungry, _Creators, get me out of this country before I start eating like the noblewomen._

“I understand, Lady Lavellan.” Miriel leaned back in the carriage as it came to a stop, _finally._ She stepped out of the carriage and wasted no time in walking into the manor. She didn’t stop by any rooms or announce herself, just headed to her room where she stripped only to find that she was still bound in her corset. She was tempted to just cut away the offending garment, but knew that she did not need the wrath of Madame Shirot. She rested her head against the wall in frustration and exhaustion. _Dread Wolf take this place, I hate it._ With that, Miriel threw on a robe and went to find someone to take the damn corset off.

There was a butler in the hall, a shy looking young elven man who kept his eyes down and his feet clean.

“Hey! Can you please help me out of this corset?” She asked rather loudly as he began to walk down the hall away from her. He turned to her, eyes wide.

“Pardon me, ma’am?” The man asked and Miriel rolled her eyes as she shrugged the robe down and turning her back.

“Please help undo it, I can’t reach around myself.” She presented her back to him and she heard no movement on his part.

“My apologies, mademoiselle, I have a wife, and she is even expecting our first child-

“What are you on about? Please just let me out of the damn corset, please!” This was ridiculous, why did all of the servants believe that those in power wanted to sleep with them? Was it so widespread for the nobles of Orlais to sleep with their elven servants? _Perverted racists,_ she thought, still suffering in her corset.

“Is there a particular reason you asking this man to disrobe you, vhenan?” _Solas! Thank the Creators._

“Solas, please take this thing off, I just want to sleep,” she pleaded, borderline whined.

“You can leave,” Solas told the butler then walked up to Miriel, his hands going to her shoulders. He leaned in close to her ear, “perhaps we should do this in your quarters?” He suggested sexily and she shrugged.

“Okay, as long it gets _off_ ,” she grumbled as she reentered her room, Solas stayed close behind her, his breath still hot on her skin.

She moved to the closest end poster of the bed, bracing herself against it after shucking off her robe. Solas did not make any comments as his hands deftly untied the garment, slowly freeing her ribcage and lungs to finally be able to breathe properly. Miriel sucked in a deep breath when the last tie was undone and he began to pull the garment apart.

“ _Ma serannas, ma Solas._ ” She said on a gasp as he pulled the corset from her body, leaving her just clad in a thin undershirt and frilly under-shorts.

“You are welcome.” He said as she slumped against the poster, resting her head against the wood. Solas set the corset on the edge of the bed then placed his hands lightly on her shoulders.

“Hmm?”

“It is time for you to rest, vhenan…but I will meet you in the Fade once you fall asleep, if you wish.” He offered as he directed her to the head of the bed. She nodded, climbing into bed.

“Of course I want to see you in the Fade, you make it better…” she was fading fast, and the last thing she saw was Solas smiling as he bent down to kiss her forehead.

“Peaceful dreams, vhenan.”

**

The clan had returned to her favorite part of the Free Marches. They were about two hours south of Markham, positioned on a large Cliffside that overlooked the Waking Sea. This campsite was ridiculously safe because the local humans believed the cliff to be haunted, but according to the Keeper, no hostile spirits resided here. It was a beautiful place, high up and safe with good hunting and wonderful sea air. They made their way to this cliff every couple years, and every time they did, Miriel was happy to be back.

She was on the outskirts of the main camp, sitting on the cliff enjoying the air when Solas joined her.

“This is a happy memory for you,” He stated and she smiled, the breeze blowing her hair back.

“Yes, the air clears my head and the diffused light is easy on my eyes. If I could, I would build a home here, where I could wake up every morning to see the waves crashing against the rocks, the gulls crying, and the wind blowing.” She said wistfully as the scene shifted around them so that they were standing in sand at the bottom of the cliff, wandering along the beach.

“You continue to surprise me, vhenan, I would not have imagined as the place where you would want to live,” he shook his head but seemed to enjoy the air as well, tilting his face up to catch the wind.

“And where did you expect me to live? A tree in a forest? That is a bit stereotypical, don’t you think?” She smiled teasingly at him.

“Perhaps, or maybe you dreamed of what the ancient cities looked like and fancied yourself to live there.” He suggested and she nodded.

“That is true, I often do wonder what they looked like, but I always felt at peace here,” she explained as she drifted closer to the water. He watched her for a moment before walking to her side.

“I can show you, if you like.” His voice was soft and when she whipped around to look at him, his face was full of compassion and hesitation, as if he wanted to share his knowledge with her but was unsure if she wanted it as well. Miriel smiled, _silly man._

“I would love to see it, Solas.” She replied softly. He then extended his hand out to her. Without hesitation and with utmost trust she took his hand, and the entire world around them shifted.

It was as if they were flying upwards and downwards at the same time, the wind whipping around them frantically as the world changed. The light brightened then dulled to a soft glow as everything began to settle into place. Greys, greens, blues, and a dazzling brightness began to settle into definite patterns and soon they were in an old stone room. Miriel looked around, dazzled as she took in the space. They appeared to be in a large bedroom or study that was attached to a wraparound balcony. There were no doors leading to said balcony, simply towering white stone arches in what appeared to be traditional elven style. There was a large bed with ornate white wood carving and soft looking bedding. Beneath the bed was a rug that looked like it depicted a story of some sort, but she could not read the writing nor decipher what the images were showing. The wall behind the bed was a large mosaic comprised of blue, green, and yellow gems into the general shape of a howling wolf. Miriel turned to see a desk, with piles of papers and books that she was sure would look like they were falling apart from age if they had not already crumbled to dust. Up above, the ceiling curved, buffered by great wooden beams. The gems used in the mosaic also decorated the ceiling in bright patches between beams and stone. The floor was made of glittering gold tiles that were pleasantly warm to the touch, _must be an enchantment._ The room was grand, the light glowing radiantly, making everything appear to glimmer. It was…overwhelming to say the least.

“Creators…” she murmured as she absent mindedly walked to the balcony, wanting to see what was beneath. The balcony overlooked a lush courtyard, complete with a fountain and emerald foliage with stone benches receding into the delightfully almost overgrown plants.

“Does this live up to what you imagined it would be?” Solas asked, reminding her that she was not alone and that he was responsible for gifting her with this vision.

“No, I mean…this is more than what I could ever have imagined. The ruins that we see in the physical world…it could never do this justice.” Her eyes bounced from corner to corner, absorbing as much as she could. Behind her, Solas stood, quiet and surprisingly solemn.

“What is this place?” She asked as she leaned over the balcony edge. He hesitated for a moment before joining her at the ledge.

“It is an estate, and one of the first ruins I ever explored.” She should have guessed that this was an estate, but for whom? A king or queen, a lord or lady, a priest or priestess, or maybe someone of a station that no longer existed in modern times?

“Who lived here?” Below them a memory of a person drifted through the courtyard. The form was mostly amorphous, but it was still exciting to see someone drift through the place – even if it was just an indistinguishable memory. Beside her, Solas shifted on his feet.

“Most likely a noble, perhaps a priest.” Solas supposed. She was somewhat surprised that he didn’t know more, or mention the Dread Wolf howling above the bed.

“Is it possible that if a priest did live here, he or she was dedicated to the Dread Wolf?” This would have been before the great Betrayal, and the elves would not have known better to not idolize him.

“All things are possible,” he was being very cryptic, but then again, if he didn’t want to know, his pride would dictate to not overly show it.

Miriel’s Keeper’s words came to her mind unbidden as she looked back at the wolf mosaic. _“Bringing the Dread Wolf into anything complicates things, what appears beautiful and stunning could instead be built on the bones of a thousand people. Be wary of His name, da’len.”_

“I suppose it makes sense, this would have been before His betrayal,” Miriel wondered aloud. Solas tensed briefly at her words, confusing her more, but it did not fully bother her. He always got weird whenever the old Gods were discussed. He turned to her, the air about him changed into a more positive feeling and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Come, I did not bring you here to talk about the Dread Wolf.” He took her hand and began to lead her out of the bedroom.

“I don’t suppose you brought me here to make use of that bed, either,” she teased and he surprised her by laughing.

“No, lethallan, I did not. I wanted to show you…everything.” They left the bedroom and entered a long open hallway, complete with graceful statues and other beautiful works of art. Her head was on a constant swivel to try and see everything, but Solas was not making any stops to let her look at the art. _Everything is so beautiful._ Soon they were in another bedroom, though this one was smaller…but with a grander bed with four tall posters carved to look like curving spires. There was a large trunk at the foot of the bed and a door adjacent to the bed. Before Miriel could admire the room more, Solas was directing her through that door and into what appeared to be a dressing room.

Solas let go of her hand and when to the far wall where he opened up a dresser containing what looked like dresses…but they were rather small compared to the dresses she was used to seeing.

“What is this?” She asked as she joined him at the bureau.

“These were dresses worn by noblewomen in the times of Arlathan. Unlike Orlesian noble attire, the ancient elves favored simplicity and light fabrics in their robes.” Solas explained as he reached into the wardrobe, pulling out a long shimmering burgundy gown. He handed it to Miriel and she gazed at it shocked.

“This is a gown?” She asked, amazing at how light it was, how little fabric there was.

“Yes!” Solas said animatedly, but in a heartbeat he became more solemn as he met her gaze. “Might I ask that you wear it?” He was so earnest, so eager to see her dressed in this. He had been shocked to see her in the Orlesian gowns, unimpressed by their ostentatious style. He had not delighted in the fabrics the Dalish favor, and he seemed only impressed by her body, and not what covered it. But here he was, asking her with such a fervor to dress for him. She took a deep breath and smiled at him.

“As long as it doesn’t involve a corset,” she said and he beamed, leaning down to kiss her quickly.

“No, vhenan, no corset.”

“Then leave, I will come out when ready,” with her free hand she stroked his face before he left, softly closing the door behind him. Miriel then began to shuck off her clothing before realizing that this is the Fade, she could probably just imagine herself in the dress and – oh would you look at that! She was in it with just a flick of a thought. She gazed at herself in the mirror, shocked at how scandalous the dress looked to her.

It was a flowing, emerald green dress that was sensitive to every movement Miriel made. The torso of the dress glittered with small gems and crystals, and long, almost transparent, swaths of fabric flowed down gracefully from the small straps on her shoulders. The bodice hugged her body close while the skirt of the dress, starting slightly below her waist, flowed out. Her arms were bare, leaving the entirety of her tattoo visible, which earned many points in its favor. The lack of undergarments, however, would take getting used to.

With one last twirl and once over in the mirror, Miriel left the dressing room.

Solas immediately stood, old sense of propriety seeming to take hold of him as he took her form in. His eyes were wide, his mouth forming a small ‘O’. A blush slowly spread from his neck to his face and she smiled, turning slowly that he could appreciate all of the dress.

“Do you like it?” She asked innocently when she was done showing the dress, herself, off. His eyebrows went up as he tried to formulate an answer.

“You are…stunning,” he murmured, still staring at her. She couldn’t pretend that she didn’t like the attention. She had been starved of this sort of appraisal from him and to have him here, even in the Fade, looking at her like she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen was very much welcome. It was another moment before Solas broke out of his reverie and walked over to the trunk at the foot of the bed.

“What are you doing?” She asked as she joined him at the trunk. He opened it, revealing an organized area for jewelry. It shone brightly and she gasped, _Creators, it’s a treasure chest._

“Ancient elven men were expected to gift their mistresses with jewelry and other finery,” he spoke, reaching into the chest, pulling out a large gold necklace with crystals and emeralds cased into leaf-like molds. The center pendant consisted of one large circle with an emerald in it and what looked to be the shapes of a rabbit’s head and ears dangling below it. _He wants to give that to me,_ she thought as he brought to her.

“Am I your mistress, Solas?” She asked sultry. He grinned as he indicated for her to turn around. She swept her hair out of the way so that he may fasten the clasp. His hands were soft and warm on her neck as they quickly and deftly secured the jewelry around her neck.  After he was done placing the piece on her, his hands rested on her shoulders and he leaned into her, placing his lips by her exposed ear.

“You are my heart,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over the sensitive shell of her ear. She shivered in sensual reaction. She leaned her head back, further exposing her neck to him. He moved his face down, lips achingly close to her skin, teasing. His breath tickled her sensitive skin, moving up and down, building her up just to tear her down.

“There is one more,” he said before reaching back down into the trunk of glittering jewels.

“Oh Solas, this is more than enough – oh that is pretty,” he pulled what appeared to be some form of necklace with many chains connecting to the intricate bejeweled silver and pearls of the piece. Using his height, Solas stood straight as he placed the jewelry over her head, carefully minding not to tangle her hair. Once more she felt his hands softly caress her and she sighed, leaning into his touch.

“There,” he whispered and she turned around, bedecked in finery that she actually liked. Solas took in a breath before smiling with soft eyes, bending down to kiss her softly on the forehead.

“You are stunning,” he whispered before moving his lips to hers for a slow, sweet kiss.

“There is more I wish to show you, would you like to see?” He asked, and she answered automatically, her eyes closed.

“ _Yes_ ,” and then he was gone, taking her hand and leading her out of the room. _Damn him!_ She thought playfully as they skipped through the halls, the light of midafternoon never fading. _He certainly wants to reach our destination quickly._ They went down a flight of stairs and then they were in the courtyard they had seen from the balcony. With a wave of his hand the place filled with people, ancient memories of ancient elves clad in odd, simple finery. The low indistinct hum of conversation hovered in the air.

“How is it so clear?” She asked as she reached out as if to touch a man clothed in dark green robes.

“I am calling upon the memory from the place I visited, it was even more vivid when actually there.” He strode to the fountain, reaching out and…touching the water.

“It’s so…lifelike,” she was absolutely astounded, joining him at the fountain. She reached out and touched the water, gasping at feeling actual wetness. She was so distracted by the water that she didn’t notice the grin Solas had adopted, and before she knew it he had flicked water at her.

“OH! Is that how you treat your mistress? Getting her brand new dress wet and potentially messing up her makeup?” She splashed him back and he laughed. He looked down at his now wet clothes and quirked a brow at her.

“It appears that I need to change my attire,” Solas grinned and in heartbeat his clothes changed from the humble cotton leggings and tunic he always wore to long, tailored robes in a deep navy with accents of black and silver. His undershirt bled white from beneath the robes, a stark contrast to his robes and the dark wolf’s jaw he always wore. It was Miriel’s turn for her mouth to go dry at her lover’s appearance. Solas was not your prototypical handsome, he was not young and he had no hair. It was his confidence, his knowledge, the way he carried himself that made himself so handsome to Miriel. She had never needed him to be the dashing elven prince of fables, his wisdom and his voice were always enough for her, but looking at him now, dressed in finery that complimented his frame so well, he appeared to be her prince…and so much more. He stood straighter, his eyes glowing with a mischief that sparked a fire in her belly, and a grin that promised that he could coax that fire hotter and hotter. Here in the Fade, Solas was her elven prince in disguise, a man of gentle pride, and softer hands, who could lavish love upon her physically and emotionally.

Miriel raised her hand to his face, gently stroking his face as she smiled happily. He leaned into her touch, kissing her palm before taking her hand in his own. He blinked and suddenly there was music floating in the air. Her head jerked to look in the direction of the music and Solas chuckled low.

“Would you like to investigate?” He played to her curiosity and she just rolled her eyes at him.

“Of course, I would, but you know what else I would like to do?” Her gaze turned wicked but before he could say anything she pulled his face down to her and kissed him. It was a quick, hard kiss but it was welcome by both parties. Solas kissed her passionately but pulled away before she was quite ready. She pouted playfully at him and he chuckled once more.

“Come, emma lath,” he murmured and she sighed, going along with him. They entered a room just off of the courtyard where the music seemed to be coming from. The two walked in to see the memory of couples dancing to the surprisingly quick paced dance. Gentlemen and ladies danced across the floor, clearly in pairs but not touching.

“Why aren’t they touching each other?” Miriel inquired as she walked hesitantly on the floor, observing the dancing. A man suddenly danced right through Miriel and she laughed at the surprise, the energy seeming to invigorate her.

“Partners do not touch each other for it is seen as a prelude to indecent fornication.”

“Well that explains why it felt so inappropriate at that dance lesson,” she joked and he blushed.

“I wished to convey a message, I believe I was successful.” She was about to tease him some more when the music changed and the couples began to dance a familiar dance. She watched their footing and realized that they were stepping to the Dance of Courtship. It was a quick paced song with complicated footing and lots of turning that brought couples closer and closer. The point was that if at any point one partner felt uncomfortable, they could turn away and exit the dance while maintain social graces. Dipping out of the dance a few turns in was often seen as a polite way to say “I am sorry, but I am simply not interested” but dipping out too quickly was seen as crass and insulting, the equivalent of saying “I would never court you!” If the dance was completed without any partner exiting the dance, it was seen as a very forward invitation to proper courtship, or sometimes even marriage (it’s how her older sister got engaged after all).

“I know this dance,” she murmured absent mindedly, loosely following the steps.

“The Dalish remember this?” Solas asked, sounding somewhat shocked. She skipped loosely along and Solas sighed, waving his hand, and reversing the memory so that it was at the beginning of the music.

“Then, ma vhenan, may I have this dance?” He asked and her eyes went wide, but she nodded and they assumed their stances. Her heart began to beat quickly in her chest as the music kicked up and she began to actually follow the steps, turning and twisting with it along with Solas. He followed the song with a small smile and light feet, never dipping out. One turn…two….three….four….five, _this is normal dipping out territory for couples who have been seeing each for the official time we have been seeing each other,_ but she didn’t want to leave, she was serious when she told him that she wasn’t going anywhere. She did however, expect him to respectfully bow out, but he didn’t. Solas kept the same quick, precise pace as before. Six…seven…eight, seriously if he wanted to bow out, she would not be offended, but they continued. Nine…ten…eleven, he…didn’t want to bow out, her heart swelled at this gesture. Twelve…thirteen…fourteen…fifteen was the last turn and then the two would be almost completely pressed up against each other. Their hands came up, a hair a part. As the music came to an end, Solas’s hands were about to touch and become flush with hers, and in her clan that meant a proposal, _I’m not ready._ She thought with sudden clarity before she finally dipped out of the dance and ran back into the courtyard, bracing herself against the fountain as she breathed heavily.

 “Miriel! Are you all right?” Solas was quick to find her, concern lacing his words. He tried to meet her eyes but she turned from him.

“Ir abelas, Solas, but I…I am not ready, I cannot-

“You cannot what? Breathe?” Miriel shook her head, on the verge of tears.

“No, I can…but you and the dance…and I…am not ready to get married or hear proposals-

“What are you talking about?” Solas asked, clearly confused. She looked at him intently.

“The dance! You didn’t dip out, you finished the dance and raised your hands about to touch them to mine in a marriage proposal!” She shot back at him, her eyes wild. Solas looked at her confused.

“What are talking about? Marriage proposal?” He…really didn’t understand, _he doesn’t know._

“When Theron proposed to Rana he did it with that dance – that dance represents courtship becoming marriage. Completing that dance with your partner is seen as a marriage proposal.” She explained, still breathing heavily, gesturing wildly. Solas stared at her blankly for a moment before laughing loudly.

“Why are you laughing? This isn’t funny!” She huffed but he only laughed harder to the point where one of his hands rested on his stomach and he was heaving slightly.

“Yes, vhenan, it is very funny,” he managed to say before resuming laughing. She scowled at him, squinting her eyes in indignation.

“You’re mocking me,” she accused and he leaned back over to her.

“No, I am not. But that dance? That dance is just a flirty little thing supposed to be fun, is all. The Dalish remember it as an important courtship ritual! HAHAHAHA!” She then blushed at the truth, avoiding his gaze, still in shock. He stopped laughing when he saw that she was now staring dejectedly into the fountain, clearly distraught.

“Vhenan?” He asked concerned.

“I want to wake up,” she said softly and he was taken aback. The humor drained from his countenance as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Miriel, what is wrong?” He moved closer to her only for her scooch away. He reached out to grab her shoulder and bring her closer to him when her hands came up and redirected his hands and weight. She then kicked out his legs from under him so that he keeled over into the fountain. She jumped up laughing.

“Now _that’s_ funny!” It was her turn to laugh heartily at _his_ expense as he flicked the water from his eyes and face. He scowled at her briefly before grinning mischievously. She was about to question it when a gust of wind suddenly pushed her forward, throwing her off balance, and knocking her into the fountain alongside Solas. She resurfaced with a gasp and a playful splash at Solas. He took the splash in stride and pulled her close to him kissing her soundly before making to get out of the fountain. _No you don’t!_ She reached up and pulled him back in, directing his face back to hers for a longer kiss. He growled in happiness into her mouth, though the angle and the water were awkward and uncomfortable.

“You did that on purpose,” he accused after they broke a part and she grinned.

“What? And was that gust of wind not your doing?” She shot back and he grinned once more before exiting the fountain in a most awkward and undignified way due to the now stiff movements of his robes. The water sloshed around him and he grunted as his garments clung to him. He extended his hand out to Miriel who took it to leverage herself out of the fountain.

With a thought and a small breeze, the water was leached out of their clothes, _the wonders of the Fade never cease,_ she thought as she marveled at her now dry dress.

“Are you going to tell me why you decided to throw me into the fountain?” He inquired and she hummed, musing to herself if she wanted to tell him or not.

“Every time you disrespect the Dalish, you disrespect me. I am tired of having to justify myself and my culture to you, my lover who should be supportive of who I am and where I come from.”

“Vhenan,” he began but she held up her hand and surprisingly he closed his mouth to let her finish.

“I know the Dalish don’t get everything right, but we still have customs and they are important to us. That dance is…extraordinarily significant to us. You can find it humorous, but please do not disparage my people just for that.” It was a strangely serious moment after the fountain but it was needed, she was tired of him so offhandedly disrespecting the Dalish, and by extension, her. Solas stepped forward and took her hands in his.

“Ir abelas, vhenan, I should not have been so couth.” She smiled up at him, happy that he had apologized.

“Ma serannas, Solas.” She leaned into him, smiling as he bent his head down to kiss her.

**

They explored the estate for hours, talking about anything and everything. He told her about the ancient empire and she told him about her clan. He did not once disrespect her people and she was so happy at that she would often sneak kisses to his cheek or even lips.

They were now lounging on a large chaise overlooking a swimming pool (the ancient elves actually installed fountain like structures for swimming, amazing). She rested on his chest as he stroked her hair. It was a wonderfully serene and peaceful moment. Miriel was snuggled into him and he was comfortable with…everything. Solas had at some point changed the time of day they were exploring and were now watching a sunset over the pristine water of the pool.

Soon Solas sighed and stroked her cheek for attention. She moved her head and her eyes to look up at him.

“This had been wonderful, vhenan, but is about time to…wake up.”

Miriel blinked and when she opened her eyes, she was in the great Orlesian bed with satin sheets. Her heart pounded in her chest, _why must he always do that?_ She could feign annoyance all she wanted, but she was still floating in a bubble of happiness.

Light filtered through the curtains as the sun began to rise. Miriel smiled as she sat up in her bed and stretched, ready to tackle the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please comment, leave kudos, etc.
> 
> If you would like to see what Miriel wore, go to scurvgirl.tumblr.com/mirielathalamshiralpart2


	20. Some Don't Like it Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miriel and the gang head into the Western Approach. SFW

Before the Creators had left the elves, they had clearly pointed to a pointed to a part of the map and said “fuck that place in particular.” That place later became known to the world as the Western Approach.

It was home to the most oppressive, dry, excruciating heat she had ever experienced in her life. Her feet burned, her leathers seemed to seal in all of the heat and sweat, creating a disgustingly pungent odor. She was gross. Bull was gross. Blackwall was gross. Solas was…Solas was a bloody genius. The elf had removed his outer coat to turn into a flowing hat of some sorts, protecting his bald head from the amazingly aggressive sunlight. He was obviously still covered in sweat, but at least he was in partial shade.

“Okay everybody, quick break,” she declared and there was a collective grumble as the party came to a halt.

“There isn’t even shade here, boss,” Bull mumbled as he dropped the pack he was carrying into the sand.

“Just give me a minute,” Miriel said as she began to strip her leathers off, the first layer felt so good coming off, sure it released the sealed in odor, but it also allowed a little temporary relief. Her undershirt was sweat-soaked but it would do. She pulled the shirt over her head, leaving her torso bare except for her breast band.

“No shade, but at least we get a show,” Bull joked half-heartedly. Miriel rolled her eyes but couldn’t bring herself to do anything else, _have to conserve energy in this heat._ She wringed out as much sweat out of her undershirt as possible before wrapping it around her head in the style Solas was sporting.

“Ah, I see I have inspired your new look, vhenan,” Solas quipped.

“Oh, if only you would take your shirt off,” she responded, wrapping the arms of her leather jacket around her hips. She could feel the small smile gracing his lips, the twinkle in his eye. She felt herself lighten just a bit, she knew this relationship wasn’t a bad idea.

“Are you not going to put your armor back on?” Solas asked, concerned. She shook her head in response, tying the arms of the jacket around her waist.

“No, that armor is killing me with heat more assuredly than any of the wildlife that is currently, and rather intelligently, finding shade to sleep away the hottest part of the day,” she explained as she grabbed her bow and began heading toward the large keep to the north.

**

Solas watched Miriel as the group trudged through the sand. In the sand and heat, she had lost a good bit of her natural grace. Her footing was not solid and the tension in her shoulders showed just how frustrated she was with fighting the environment. The heat was truly awful and clearly a strain on everyone. With a careful burst of magic he cast a small freezing spell over all of them. It…did not go over as well as he thought it would.

Miriel gasped, her entire body tensing as her arms instinctively wrapping around herself. Bull and Blackwall swore then laughed when they spied the still shocked Miriel.

“Solas, you sly dog!” Blackwall laughed. Solas’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. He had cooled them off with a spell, why would they – oh.

Miriel turned around, her eyes aflame, and her…nipples pointing accusingly right at Solas.

“Solas, if you wanted to see me like this, you really just needed to ask,” she stated flatly. Solas would like to say that he was unaffected by her standing there…her torso practically bare to him, but he wasn’t. He was speechless at her form. Her small waist was played off of flaring hips, and currently obscene breasts that were straining against the cotton of her breast band. An image of him removing the band with his teeth briefly invaded his mind, and he had to resist the urge to growl or groan at the idea. _Stop, right now she is not your lover, she is the Inquisitor._ With a breath, Solas cleared his mind and gave a small, innocent smile.

“I thought only to alleviate the heat, I am sorry to have caused…any discomfort.” Miriel’s brow quirked up in a most devious fashion.

“Oh, well, if it wasn’t your intention…then I forgive you,” she strode toward him, her gait long and predatory as her face maintained an almost too sweet smile. _She’s up to something,_ it was a game, but a game that he was secretly thrilled with. Her hand came out and caressed his shoulder sweetly, and then – Solas fell into the sand surprisingly hard. His fall was accompanied with a round of laughter, hers ringing out like music.

“Okay, _now_ I forgive – oof!” Solas grabbed her calf and pulled her down. She fell gracefully, righting herself so that she ended up straddling him, a knee and hand on each side of him. Her face was right above his. Amber eyes locked with gray-blue ones, a different kind of heat suddenly warming their bodies. _How the physical world mimics the Fade…_ She grinned suddenly, reached up and grabbed his makeshift hat. She was up and running from him before he could do anything. Her laughter rang out again and he found himself laughing as well as he rose to his feet. Solas was about to playfully chase after her when a large beast, roughly the size of the Iron Bull, leapt up and tackled Miriel.

Bull was the first to react, charging at the large animal and tackling it to the ground in return. Miriel rolled out of the way, just in time for Solas to cast a barrier around her then freeze the creature. Bull had dropped his axe in the sand when he had charged, and was now simply pulverizing the creature’s head with his armored fist. Blackwall was about to charge in when Bull grunted, “I’ve got it!” Blackwall did not advance further, but he did not sheathe his sword or lower his shield.

Solas felt sorry for the creature as it screeched and growled as Bull wrestled it. Miriel walked back over to Solas and handed him his hat back.

“Thank you, are you alright? I have some salve if it scratched you.” Solas reached into the pack on his belt, about to pull out the salve when Miriel placed her hand on his arm.

“I’m fine, and a scratch or two is nothing, I survived the Fade and an avalanche remember?” Solas frowned as he recalled almost losing her, even when he didn’t know her. The thought was…terribly unpleasant.

“Yes, vhenan, I remember,” he murmured. She smiled as she took his arm and leaned into his body.

“Ten silver he says ‘The Iron Fucking Bull’ at the end of the fight,” Miriel said as they watched Bull continue to wrangle the Quillback.

“I see that and raise you fifteen,” Solas played back.

“Done.” Bull grunted as he slammed the beast into the sand, wound his fist back and punched, punched, and _punched_ it to death. He then stood and roared.

“I’m THE Iron _Fucking_ Bull!” Solas rolled his eyes but handed over the silver to a very cheeky Miriel. She kissed him on the cheek and then they were back on their way, hiking through the desert.

**

They had to walk at least two more miles before they reached Griffon Wing Keep, where, oh boy, Venatori had taken up residence. The little shits were also being well…shitty. They had all retreated to the back part of the keep, hoping to overwhelm the group with sheer numbers. Miriel groaned as she spied the hoard, imagining the sneering grins behind their stupid cheese grater helmets.

“You cannot hope to defeat us, Inquisitor! Where one falls, three more will take his place! The Elder One-

“Ugh, I am so not in the mood for this shit,” with a gesture of her hand she opened a small rift that disintegrated all of the Venatori bitches. Their leader screamed a good bit, and writhed, but soon everyone was dead and the keep was theirs.

“Normally, boss, I would not be okay with you just…zapping all the assholes away, but right now…right now I could really go for a nap.” Bull practically dragged his axe as he walked over to a shady area and plopped down, fanning himself dramatically. “At least on Par Vollen it rained, this shit is just dry, who likes dry shit?”

“Oh would you look at the time, it’s the Inquisitor’s nap time,” Miriel muttered as she found her own shady spot.

“Since when do you have a nap time?” Blackwall asked gruffly as he began to unbuckle his armor.

“Since now.” She once again shucked her leather jacket off and folded it to create a makeshift pillow for her nap.

Solas sighed as he strode over to the quickly fading Miriel. He sat down by her feet and pulled the book he was currently reading out of his pack. Every now and then he would glance over to the sleeping Miriel, a small smile finding its way to his face every time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapter, I needed to set the stage for the next part of the story and this did not mesh well with the beginning of the next chapter. We will resume the normal 6,000 word-ish chapters next week.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please comment, leave kudos, bookmark, etc. :)


	21. Distractions Old and New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While on a mission in the Western Approach, Miriel gets distracted and pays the price...in more ways than one. NSFW

Griffon Wing Keep was bustling with activity. It had taken the soldiers two days to get to the keep and when they did, renovations and reconstruction began at a quick pace. Miriel and the crew were helping the soldiers set up by securing far off water supply routes and cleaning up the well (who throws dead bodies down a usable well?). Today they were tackling the potentially problematic Darkspawn around the keep. The heat had backed off since the first day they had arrived, but not by much. They were once again a sweaty hot mess…and not the sexy kind.

What was worse than the heat was that Solas was wearing a loose white cotton tunic that was almost completely transparent. Miriel could make out the lines of his back, curving out then in, then out again, through the thin fabric. Further, his leggings were dark and the color bled through the tunic as well…clearly demarcating the definition and curvature of his overly fine derriere. _Wandering the world on his own has paid off…wonderfully,_ her head cocked slowly on its own, following the curve. Solas was not boastful of his body, he was always annoying clothed to an absurd degree. She knew that he was slimly muscular and tall for an elf, but that was about it. Sure she suspected he had a fantastic butt and physique, but she didn’t explicitly _know_ that he did. She still didn’t explicitly know, but she had a better idea now of how his body looked and all she could say was-

“MOTHERFUCKER!” She cried as an arrow was suddenly lodged in her left shoulder. She instinctively reached up with her right hand to grip at it. Soon Bull and Blackwall were shouting as they engaged the Darkspawn. Solas turned to her, his eyes wide as he saw her injury. The arrow had pierced through her armor somehow, digging deeply into her muscle. _OW._ She could feel the wet blood pooling underneath her armor and shirt. It wasn’t a serious injury, just a slightly deeper flesh wound, but it did hurt and it did impair her ability to fight.

It also impaired her ability to keep track of enemies apparently, since she hadn’t seen the Hurlock that was now standing next to her approach. _Oh by the Dread Wolf, why?_ The monster lunged at her and she managed to dodge it. She grunted but somehow kicked her leg out low and trip the bastard. It screeched going down and tried to scramble to get up but Miriel was there, mercilessly stomping on its head…hard. It stopped screeching around the fourth or fifth stomp, but she didn’t stop until it was all just pulp.

The Hurlock group that had attacked them was small and ill-equipped to deal with the raging men who were now all surrounding her with concerned faces and words.

“Inquisitor!” Solas cried and she rolled her eyes.

“Yep, arrow in my shoulder, ow.” She said through gritted teeth as her knees almost gave out. Bull caught her and eased her up.

“We need to get that thing out and treat the wound,” Solas said and Miriel choked out a laugh.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious. Can we do it away from that putrid corpse?” She asked and then Bull was lifting her up carefully and moving her away from the Hurlock, _it’s the little things._ They shuffled over a few feet away from the dead Hurlock where Bull laid Miriel down in the sand. She hissed at the pain at being moved again.

“We need to cut away her armor and clothes then remove the arrow and then stop the bleeding and heal the wound.” Solas explained but Miriel shook her head.

“You are not trashing my armor! Harrit worked hard on this, you can’t just get rid of it, and what else will I wear out here where everything is trying to kill us?! No!”

“There is no other option, Inquisitor! We need to heal the wound and to do that we need access to it.” Solas tried to calm her and she was about to bite back a reply when a sharp and sudden pain wracked her body, spreading out from her shoulder. She screamed as her body was wrenched up along with the arrow that had been yanked out by Bull. It was mostly the surprise that got her, while she and Solas were arguing, Bull was acting, _typical,_ she thought, but she was thankful.

Blackwall didn’t think, just acted. He raised her up and stripped her, tearing back the layers of her armor and under shirt to get at her flesh to help Solas heal the wound. She breathed heavily as Solas applied the salves and murmured old healing incantations. He was no healer, and he did not usually attempt to play it, but he seemed particularly spurred by her injury to at least _try_ to be a healer. She soon felt her flesh knit together, it was a bit slow, and Creators it was painful, but it was healing.

“You boys are so not gentle,” she grunted as Blackwall lifted her shoulders so she could sit up. She groaned and winced but otherwise was able to lean up.

“You needed the arrow out, Boss,” Bull explained and she scrunched her face up in acknowledgment.

“I know I know, and I thank you for it. Just…Dread Wolf’s balls, that hurt,” after a minute she was able to stand up and put her armor back on. It took some convincing but finally the guys complied with her wish to finish routing out the Darkspawn…until they walked to the edge of the plateau and into a stinking cloud of sulfur.

“We need to….go back…” Miriel wheezed as they turned back. They were all breathing heavily and trying to make their way back to the Keep.

“Someone back at Skyhold should have an idea of what to do.” Solas coughed and Miriel nodded as she tried to regain her breath.

“I think we are done for the day, let’s just get back to the keep.” Miriel’s replied, earning her nods and agreements.

**

By the time the group got back to the Keep, the sun was beginning to set and the soldiers were winding down to eat their supper. Solas had excused himself to perform his ritual mana cleanse at the end of the day and Blackwall was settling in with a  group of older soldiers with thick lower class Orlesian accents. That left Bull and Miriel in the line for supper. The cook slopped a ladle full of…some thick goop into Miriel’s bowl. She wrinkled her nose in disgust but didn’t fight with the man, supplies were strained and they were doing all that they could with what they had, _mental note: talk to Cullen about setting up better supply lines…and hiring a good chef for our people out here._ She left the line, and Bull followed with his own bowl full of slop.

“You were staring at him again,” Bull said as they made their way to sit down. Miriel sighed, figured there was no point in lying to the Ben-Hassrath agen, he would probably know anyways.

“Yes,” it was embarrassing really, to allow such a sexual distraction get the better of her.

“Boss, this is going to happen again if you don’t talk to him about this.” Bull chastised, Miriel snorted in response.

“Talk to him about what? That he is too attractive that he distracts me from doing my job? Way to blame him for my lack of control.”

“That he needs to see to your needs when you don’t need to be doing your job so that you won’t be distracted in the field.”

She snorted, “Just tell him, ‘hey Solas, we need to have sex so I can save the world, you down?’ So romantic.”

“It doesn’t need to be about romance, you need this, you two are in a relationship-

“This isn’t the Qun, Bull, sex is…a lot more emotionally involved in Solas and my cultures. I have had sex with one other man, _one,_ and even that is considered scandalous among the Dalish. I cannot just make love to Solas because of a sense of…duty, and he shouldn’t feel obligated to…service me, he should want to make love back to me.” Bull looked at her intently, thinking about her words. She couldn’t tell exactly what he was pondering but she could guess, _Dorian._ She sighed and touched his arm.

“I can’t speak for him, Bull, and the answers you need you are only going to come from him.”

Bull grunted, “Yeah, I know. But seriously, you need to talk to Solas about this.” It was Miriel’s turn to sigh as she nodded at Bull’s words.

“I will…somehow,” she then took a bite of the slop and gagged and shoved bowl away, “oh Creators, that is _bad._ ”

“I’ve had worse,” Bull commented as he quickly shoveled the slop into his mouth.

**

Solas enjoyed the mana cleanses he performed every morning and night. They were relaxing practicing that either prepared him for the day, or calmed him down from it. And today, Solas needed a lot of calming down. Seeing Miriel hurt was never easy, especially when they weren’t close to any true healers. She took blows every now and then, usually resulting in bruises or small fractures that were knitted together when they got back to Skyhold. Usually her armor protected her from an attack that would draw blood, or she would dodge those blows easily. Today she had been shot, pierced, and had bled right in front of him. He knew the injury was not severe, that the wound was mostly flesh and the blood just appeared melodramatic. But knowing that she was fine was not helping.

He moved his hands over his staff, reciting the familiar incantation. But the thought of her injury kept coming back. He didn’t quite understand how it happened. Miriel was typically ever aware of her surroundings, including hearing archers drawing their bow in preparation to shoot. She had dodged countless arrows before due to her vigilance and keen hearing. She had heard these archers in much noisier environments than the Western Approach, _so why hadn’t she heard this one?_ He couldn’t imagine the Darkspawn were any quieter than a man or elf with a bow, particularly with their heavy breathing and heavy footing. _She was distracted,_ but by what? He tried to recall of the details of where they were when she was shot, only coming up with sparse shrubs dotting the landscape. There weren’t even fennecs wrestling in the sand, or hyenas in the distance. It had just been the four of them, walking in the heat looking for the Darkspawn. It was possible, he supposed, that she had been thinking about something else and that thought is what distracted her, but what must have been so mentally drawing that it would block out her hearing of the bow being drawn?

Unlike most puzzles, Solas did not enjoy this one. Miriel’s actions, or lack thereof, made little sense to him. He scowled as he finished the mana cleanse, about to put away his staff when Bull walked into the room.

“So Solas, you and the Boss shackin’ up. Nice.” The Qunari said. Solas looked up at Bull.

“I fail to see how that is any concern of yours,” He replied and Bull smiled then leaned down so he could look Solas in the eye.

“Look, I don’t usually like to get involved in other people’s relationships, gets messy you see. But Miriel got shot today because she was distracted…by you.” Solas quirked his brow up at Bull, curious.

“How do you know this?” Solas asked and Bull just laughed.

“Oh, oh you’re serious? Have you seen the way she looks at you? It’s like watching a starving animal seeing food for the first time in months.” Bull said somewhat impressed. Solas was just confused.

“That is hardly a flattering image of the Inquisitor.” Solas chastised and Bull just looked at him with a confused expression.

“It’s not supposed to be. Look, I can’t tell you how to deal with your relationship-

“No, you cannot.” Solas said plainly.

“ _But_ I do know when someone needs something and their partner is not seeing to that need.”

“What exactly are you insinuating?”

“Nothing. I am _telling_ you that she is distracted because of the lack of sexual attention you pay her. See to her needs, Solas, or someone else will.” And with that Bull left the room. Solas stood there, somewhat shocked. He could not recall the last time someone had been sexually interested in him and not Fen’Harel. Yes, he had received many propositions for sex and relationships as his fabled persona, but Solas…his actual self…well, it had been a _long_ time indeed.

Perhaps that was why it was so surprising to him that Miriel was apparently sexually interested. He knew she wanted the relationship of course, but so far their physical intimacy had been fairly tame – kisses here and there, occasionally sharing a bed, but nothing explicit. He had even wondered if she desired that aspect of a relationship at all.

A grin spread across his face as contemplated the implications of this knowledge. She desired him, admired his body, which he supposed was a good body, and further, he desired her. She was beautiful and quick and wise, testing and thrilling him over and over again – truly it was both maddening and endearing. He loved her and he could show her just how much, he could –

_You’re lying to her_ , and there it was – the little cynical voice that had taken residence in his head. _You wish to bed her while lying to her,_ it continued. Well, he was not technically _lying_ to her, more like keeping the truth away from her. He winced, that wasn’t much better.

She didn’t know all that he was. She knew who he was at heart, but she had no knowledge of what he had done, what he was planning to do. How could he allow himself to indulge in her? He was who she hated, whom she feared. _Who she was taught to fear, it can be unlearned,_ a newer more hopeful voice said within him as he began to pace.

_She did not reject the help in the valley…_ the voice continued, referring to him possessing the wolf and guiding her back to safety after Corypheus had destroyed Haven. _But she had screamed, had tried to fight._

_Have you not always fought what you fear?_

Perhaps then…perhaps he could maybe entertain the idea of telling her…one day. Not now, of course, the time was not right. Perhaps…perhaps after Corypheus was dealt with he could tell her, and maybe after seeing how much he did really love her, how much he gave to the Inquisition, maybe she would not hate him.

But the present issue still remained. Miriel was sexually frustrated and it was getting her injured. This could not continue. A pleasantly devious plan came to mind and he smiled as he contemplated all the ways he could solve this particular dilemma.

**

It had become habit to traverse the Fade while dreaming. As time progressed, Miriel found herself more and more able to channel the power of the Anchor into allowing her to dream almost completely coherently. She would fall asleep with an idea, a wish in a way, and focus that idea into the Anchor. She was no mage, but the magic felt strangely familiar and it amazingly responded to her prompting.

That night was no different. She fell asleep in her bedroll, thinking about his eyes and the fullness of Solas’s lips, the fluidity of his movements.

The Anchor flared in her hand and she reached out, searching for Solas. She had discovered this trick when she had looked for him when he had left after the death of his friend. She had felt the desire to see him, to comfort him, and at that the Anchor had flared up and seemed to…pull her in Solas’s direction. Now she allowed her desire to see him, to discuss the issues of physicality between them. The Anchor flared to life and lead her down a path heading east.

She followed the glowing green light until she saw him. She allowed his will for the area to surpass her own, and soon towering trees and beautiful flowers surrounded her. There was soft, light dirt underneath her feet and a glittering sun twinkled above her. The trees were twisting, straining towards the sky in an almost unnatural way. Green canopies housed chirping birds, their calls a warning as they peered at her with their beady black eyes. Soft green grass carpeted the landscape ahead…where Solas stood with his back to her, tunic waving in the gentle wind. His head was turned to the wind, a relaxed and almost…nefarious expression upon his face.

“Vhenan,” he said and she strode towards him, her feet enjoying the soft feel of the grass. He turned towards her, blue eyes bright with mischief. She stopped short and quirked a brow at him.

“Solas?” She asked in a low voice, equal parts questioning and mirthful.

“Would you care to tell me what distracted you today?” He all but purred. Her eyes widened as her cheeks reddened and she giggled nervously.

“Uuhhh,” she stammered none too eloquently. He strode towards her, hands behind his back as he smiled roguishly.

“Was there a small fennec nearby?” He asked, feinting innocence. She narrowed her eyes, he was up to something.

“No,” she answered.

“Then maybe a fly buzzing by your ear?” He suggested. She bit her lip and shook her head slowly, watching him slowly walk around her.

“Then what could it have possibly grabbed the full attention of a skilled huntress?” He whispered in her ear. His lips were tantalizingly close to her ear and she wanted to moan at the nearness, but somehow she restrained herself.

“By this line of teasing, you know precisely what it was that distracted me,” she whispered back. She felt his soft exhale of an almost laugh, lips curling up into a smirk.

“But perhaps I wish confirmation for myself. The mind can be quite...colorful,” at that moment flashes of her and Solas writhing on the ground filled her mind. They were naked and she was moaning as he watched her reach her pleasure. It was just a moment, a brief image, but it was enough to send her heart racing and her cheeks blushing.

“You, it was you, Solas,” she murmured, suddenly soft for him. He chuckled by her ear as he slipped his hands around her waist.

“Ah, so I was correct,” he moved his lips along her ear in a caress, eliciting a shiver from her.

“Though, I am curious. What exactly about my form is so distracting?” He asked. She opened her eyes (when had she closed them?) at the sensual but wonderfully honest question.

“Are you not aware of how beautiful you are? Solas, you are tall and perfectly proportioned and just absolutely breathtaking. Not to mention maddening since I have only been able to guess what your body looks like. That kind of guesswork leads to a lot of um…fantasies…” she stammered at the end. His arms were completely encircled around her waist now, his face practically buried into her neck as his nose pressed against the hollow beneath her ear.

“What do these fantasies consist of?” He whispered. Her breath halted as her blush intensified and her eyes widened.

“S-surely you don’t wish to know about that-

“I wish to know everything about you, vhenan,” was it her, or did the way he say ‘everything’ sound just a bit more sexual than it had any right to be?

“Well, there is one…where I am returning to Skyhold from a mission and you are standing in my room…naked. I-I see your back and when I enter, you turn your head and smile and say ‘Ah, I was wondering when you would return.’” That was a tame fantasy compared to some of the others, but he hummed his approval, pressing a kiss to her sensitive skin.

“I will have to keep that in mind. What is another fantasy of yours?” He prodded and she let out a breath. Right, what was one that wouldn’t be too embarrassing for her to reveal? Ah, yes, the tent one.

“After a long day of adventuring, I walk into my tent to find you there, reading a book. You look up at me with _those_ eyes.”

“ _Those_ eyes? You will have to be more specific than that, vhenan.” He pushes and she shivers as his hips so subtly rock into her backside.

“Um, you know, when your eyes say all the naughty things you want to do to me that your mouth can’t,” she murmurs back.

“I do not know, vhenan, my mouth can say many naughty things,” oh. Oh Creators. He just…she couldn’t…this man was destroying every strand of sense she had left, and she was completely fine with it.

Miriel turned her head, unable to not try and kiss him. Thankfully, Solas understood and pressed his lips to hers. It was a soft, wet kiss that had her toes curling. His hands wandered over her body so that his left hand reached up and cupped her breast while his right hand dipped below, almost palming her sex. She inhaled sharply as she pressed against him.

“Such tame fantasies. That was not quite what I was expecting,” he said after pulling back from her. She opened her eyes and smirked deviously.

“I wasn’t finished,” she began, “I walk into the tent and you take off the blanket covering you. You’re already hard, apparently thinking of me while you waited. We kiss as you strip me, touching my breasts and waist, telling me how much you need me. You tell me how hard I make you,” at that moment pulled her close so that she could feel his building hardness. She practically mewled at the sensation and knowledge. Encouraged by her vocalization, Solas slipped his hand into her breeches, past her smalls. He moved down to fully palm her sex.

Miriel gasped, arching her back at the sudden pleasure.

“Keep going,” he urged and she swallowed thickly as she tried to string words together.

“You love me with your hands first,” he ran his index finger along her folds, teasing her.

“And are you wet?” The double edge of the question did not escape her notice and she gave into him.

“Yes, oh Creators, _yes_ , I am wet for you,” she purred and he growled in approval against her neck.

“How do I touch you?” He prodded, moving his middle finger along with his index to slowly part her lips.

“S-slow at f-first,” she hissed as he does as she says, slowly caressing her soft, wet flesh. Soft pleasure begins to build in her, radiating up from her nether regions. His other hand then decided to have more fun as well, slipping beneath her tunic, doing away her breast band and cupping one of her breasts.

“Y-you suck my nipples too,” she hissed as he tweaked her nipple and dragged his fingers at her sex up at the same time. Warmth and pleasure spiked within her, coiling around her sex and nipple and clouding her mind.

“You…speed…up over time,” she huffed as he continued to stroke her. His fingers delved closer to her entrance, tantalizingly close, then they were moving up, almost touching her clit and she almost screamed as they moved away again.

“Y-you nevvv-er teased m-me like this,” she stammered and he chuckled evilly.

“This is not a fantasy,” he kissed her neck lovingly then drew his lips up to her ear, “this is real.” Finally, he touched her clit, his finger barely kissing it but she still gave a small cry. The touch was fleeting and soon his fingers were trailing down to her entrance where they gently pushed and pulled the quivering flesh.

“So-Solas?” She didn’t think she can continue with words at this point. Her mind was fogged with pleasure and need and he just moved his fingers again.

“Miriel,” he responded before removing his hands from her. She whimpered at the loss but then she is falling back and he is on top of her.

“What?” She asked reflexively. Miriel glanced around to see that Solas had materialized a bed in the middle of the verdant field. _Oh, alright, that’s fine – OH!_ His mouth was suddenly on hers, kissing her breath away and any nervousness caused by the sudden shift. She kissed him back with all the passion she felt, cupping his face lovingly.

Solas pulled back and began to strip her, deftly removing her tunic and breast band followed by her breeches and smalls. When she was bare to him, he leaned back, drinking in the sight. His eyes grew soft, trailing a finger down her sternum.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, awestruck. His eyes met hers and he smiled as his eyes said all the sweet things his mouth couldn’t. She smiled back, reaching up to caress his cheek.

“As are you,” she replied breathlessly. He smiled before his gaze turned wicked. Solas took her hand and brought it to his pelvis where she felt the clear swell of his arousal. Her eyes went wide as he leaned back down to whisper wickedly in her ear.

“Do you feel how hard you make me, vhenan? How much I need you?” Creators he was using her fantasy for her and ah, how she loved him for it. _Love?_ Maybe? She was still unsure but right now she was seriously leaning towards –

“AH!” She cried when he returned his hand to her heat, picking up where he left off last. His fingers danced around her entrance up to her clit where he thrummed for a few seconds before dipping back down. He stoked her flames higher and higher until her head was thrashing from the teasing. Dammit, she needed to – had to – that is-

“Solas, _please,_ ” she pleaded. He pressed a kiss to her lips before pulling back,

“Ma nuvenin,” was all the warning she got before a small zap of electricity ran through her body, originating at her clit and following an erotic pathway all the way up to her tongue that was currently entwined with his. She gasped, her head falling back as her back arched and her toes curled.

“ _Fuuuuuck!_ ” She moaned, her face turning away from his. He chuckled low, his face remaining close to hers.

“I take it you liked that.” Every nerve ending her body felt aflame, tingling with the aftershock after whatever it was he had done.

“Dunno, do it again, and I’ll tell you.” He chuckled but did as she asked and sent another bolt of erotic energy through her. Her nipples stood on end, and she grew wetter in a great rush as the electricity flooded her.

“ _Shiiiiit!_ ” She cried this time. It was this borderline pain turned sensual and she reveled in it. Her fingers dug into his skin and this time _he_ moaned. She grinned.

“You like a little pain with your pleasure, huh?” She asked breathlessly.

“It makes the pleasure that much better,” he said before playfully nipping at her ear. She let out a small cry and laughed at the slight tickling sensation. That laugh quickly turned into a moan as his hand resumed its previous activity of touching her intimately. This time the lazy circles were gone, replaced with purposeful strokes, stoking her flame hotter and hotter.

Solas’s mouth was back at her neck, kissing and sucking. Miriel’s hands raked down his back, and he arched into her touch.

“Vhenan,” he gasped into her ear. She loved hearing him, wanted to hear more and was rewarded with a low moan when she nibbled his earlobe.

Solas ramped up the speed and pressure of his strokes, intermittently sending smaller bursts of energy through her body via her clit. Soon she was writhing and almost in tears as she hovered precariously on the ledge of her orgasm. She hesitated there, briefly, giving Solas just enough time to meet her eyes as his finger rolled over her clit one more time. She fell with a small almost surprised noise. Solas was not content to let her ride this out, however. He dipped two fingers shallowly in her opening, feeling her spasm. She cried out loudly as she felt him gently pump inside of her to elongate her orgasm. Her pleasure could only go on for so long, and soon she was no more than a puddle of mush in his arms.

He held her gently as her heartbeat returned to normal and her body actually felt solid. Miriel settled against him and looked up at him. A happy, satisfied smile graced his features and she blushed.

“Good dream to you too,” she said and he chuckled.

“Yes, it is a rather good dream, isn’t it,” it was less of a question and more of a statement. She stretched in his arms before resting her head on his chest.

“What about you? You didn’t…”

“I wish for tonight to be about you,” he answered simply.

“Well, that’s hardly fair,” she countered jokingly. She looked up at him to see the worry and strangely enough, conflict on his face. Serious, she reached up and touched his face.

“Take all the time you need, there is no need to rush.” He took her hand and kissed her fingertips.

“Thank you,” he breathed. Miriel hummed in happiness. She looked around once more, suddenly curious about the landscape.

“Solas…where are we?” She asked and he looked up.

“This is what the Western Approach used to look like,” he answered.

“No shit,” she gaped at the lushness of the land, completely shocked that this is what the nightmarish wasteland the Western Approach used to be.

“It is weird to see it like this…when it’s actually kind of nice,” she murmured. Solas shrugged and snuggled in closer to her.

“It is beautiful, yes, but still deadly. It was still hot when it looked like this, and water was woefully scarce,” he frowned and she gently poked at the edge of his lips.

“Oh now, what’s this? Frowning in the best sex dream ever is not allowed,” she jokingly chastised. He smiled, the wrinkles by his eyes crinkling adorably.

“Then what is allowed?”

“Kissing!” She proclaimed happily. His smile turned devious before leaning down.

“Ma nuvenin.” He kissed her long and languidly and she couldn’t help feel that everything in that moment was perfect and that everything was going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pushed it up to E! A tame E, but still an E and there is more to come.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please comment, leave kudos, bookmark, etc. if you so wish. :)


	22. Tension (A Hero's Work)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems a hero's work is never done. Miriel learns how to deal with the stress. NSFW

Everything was going to shit. The heat in the Western Approach had returned and was beating down on the group as they made their way to the ritual tower to the west. Katra was waiting for them there and while they still had a ways to walk before they got there, Miriel’s palm itched in a way that signaled the nearby presence of demons. She groaned at the sight of large, red orange, glowing blobs – _rage demons,_ great. Shadows slithered about the tower and she scowled, _shades._

_Solas was right, shit._ She had been really hoping that demons weren’t involved in any capacity and that there would not be any possible connection between the Grey Wardens and the Venatori. _Shit._ Why couldn’t there be one thing, _one fucking thing,_ that wasn’t going to shit because of Corypheus? Orlais, the mages, Templars, red lyrium, Venatori – and now the Grey fucking Wardens.

Miriel sighed as they trudged forward. She could almost hear the maniacal laughter the Venatori mage was probably (not really) making right now as he did his master’s dirty work. The man was probably a snide, ugly little shit with an inferiority complex…probably threatened by women too. She imagined him as this hunched over ghoul like creature that had a gimp and a horrible lisp as he muttered ‘Master!’ over and over again. Imagining her enemies like this was part of the process of working herself up to killing them – they could no longer be a person in her mind if she was going to consciously kill them as opposed to simple self-defense. If they were people in her mind, she was a murderer and she could not be a murderer if she was to be the Inquisitor.

They finally made it to Katra and Stroud, her face red and already weary.

“Please tell me that isn’t a Venatori mage with a bunch of Grey Warden mages summoning demons.” She said to Katra who sighed and turned to the elf.

“It’s actually a goblin shaman with a bunch of orc and demon cohorts plotting doom upon this world,” Katra replied and Miriel nodded.

“I can work with that,” Miriel responded. The rest of the group except Bull gave them strange looks, not fully comprehending exactly what the two women were doing. Katra cracked her neck and stretched her arms before setting down the path to the ritual tower.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

**

Well fucking shit balls. That is all Katra could think after the Magister had fled the scene and the rest of them had been left to deal with the corrupted Grey Warden mages. Stroud was devastated as well as the Warden in Miriel’s party. Everyone was just sort of standing about not really sure how to react. The Grey Wardens had always been the heroes of legend, a hero’s Hero, and here they were…corrupted by Corypheus. _Fucking shit balls._

After a moment of silence, Katra spoke up.

“I think it’s best if we head to Skyhold to figure something out.” She said and her voice seemed to break the reverie that had befallen everyone.

“Yes, I think that would be best. There is an old Warden fortress out here, Adamant, I bet that it is their base of operations.” Stroud said. Hearing the name of that old, dark fortress made Hawke shiver. She had never been there, but she knew of it and of the events that had transpired there. The Veil would be weak there, perfect for a mass demon summoning…or creating a new Breach to rain demons upon this world. _Fucking shit balls._ The Inquisitor ran a hand through her hair, clearly trying to figure out what to do next.

“We should get back to Skyhold to formalize a plan, but that will take time. Stroud, you have my authority to become the authority at Griffon Wing Keep, I can get it in writing for you. We need to monitor the situation closely, if you think anything resembling a demon army is starting to rise out here, send word to Skyhold ASAP.” It was a bold but smart move on her part; Katra nodded along with the plan. Stroud agreed with it too as he dipped his head in thanks. Solas scowled but didn’t say a word as Miriel granted Stroud a significant foothold out here.

“The rest of us will head to Skyhold to talk to Cullen and Leliana about what we’ve seen – I want this done as quietly as possible.”

“Quiet is probably going to be impossible, Adamant is old and the Wardens are heroes of old. Olds things tend to whine loudly when you try to take them down,” Katra pointed out. Miriel closed her eyes and bit her lip in deep thinking.

“I am aware, but still, the last thing Thedas needs is to see is their incorruptible heroes of legend corrupted and then defeated by the Inquisition.” The elf said and Katra agreed. This shitty position was not one for publicity, not like Halamshiral. Beardy stepped forward.

“I request to remain here with Stroud,” the man said and Miriel nodded.

“Very well, I am sure Warden Stroud would appreciate all the man power he can get.” Stroud nodded at Miriel’s words. She then turned to the rest of the group.

“The rest of us will head to Skyhold on the morrow, there is no time to lose. We are officially racing against the clock.” With that Miriel walked away from the carnage. Her companions turned to follow suit, even Stroud left before Hawke. She just stared at the death around her for a moment longer, lingering on the remarkably young faces of the Wardens around her. She closed her eyes and felt the now familiar pang in her chest longing for Fenris to hold her and kiss her until she forgot about the dead. She shook her head though and finally turned away from the death to follow the living back to Griffon Wing Keep.

**

Miriel, Solas, Katra, and Bull left the Western Approach the next day, riding out on their horses at a brisk pace. Miriel had opted for a horse to the desert for the simple fact that Harts did not do well with the shifting sands, and now with the speed needed to get back to Skyhold, she was grateful for this decision.

She didn’t want to believe what had just happened. She didn’t want to believe that the Grey Wardens, who were supposed to be those who fought against the ultimate evil of Darkspawn, were now working for that evil. The Grey Wardens were respected among all the disparate cultures of the world, even the Dalish recognized their authority to conscript. And now the Inquisition stood against them. It made her position feel dirty even though they were doing the right thing. _This isn’t the entire Order, just the Orlesian branch…_ but no matter how much she told herself that this was necessary and that if it wasn’t done the world would fall to Corypheus, it didn’t rid of the wretched feeling in her gut.

They had exited the vast desert and were on the quickest route to Skyhold when Bull rode up next to Miriel.

“Boss, we need to make a quick pit stop.” He said and her shoulders sagged in exhaustion.

“Why?” She asked.

“Ben-Hassrath information drop is located near here, I need to check to see if there is a letter in there.” For the most part, Miriel liked Bull’s Ben-Hassrath job, they got good information out of it without having to actually having to deal with the Qun. It was great…except when they had to take time out of their already busy schedule to get said information. But this was important to Bull, and if it was important to her friend, it was important to her, and these things usually didn’t take too long.

“Okay, where is it?” Bull spurred his horse forward to lead the group about twenty minutes off the road to a small but raucous sounding inn. Their horses were loaded up with the majority of their things and Miriel didn’t want to chance anything.

“Katra, Solas, can you stay out here with the horses?” She asked and they both nodded. Bull and Miriel entered the inn to a loud whooping song about women with large breasts and even larger tankards of ale. As far as taverns went, the stench of stale ale and piss wasn’t too horrible, but it was crowded and full of sweaty, unshaven, filthy men, some of who still had blood dried to their armor. Groups were relegated to their own separate little areas, but they all seemed to participate in the same revelry of drinking and singing badly. There was your typical burly man group with the tiny “idea guy” with all the money in the middle getting drunk off his ass in one area. In another corner sat a quiet, nervous looking group of apostates. Their robes gave them away, and while they were suspicious looking, she didn’t get a sinister or blood magic feel off of them, probably just new to the mercenary world. There were other human groups, all mostly men, and then there were the four Qunari men lurking in the far corner farthest away from the bar. _Tal-Vashoth._ They eyed Bull with scowls and menacing eyes as he walked through the main area and disappeared into a back room.

Miriel stayed in the bar area, she had a weird feeling that she should stay out here and let Bull deal with his Ben-Hassrath informant himself. What was most odd about the situation was that no one here seemed to recognize her as the Inquisitor or as the Herald of Andraste. It was nice…and vaguely disturbing. A chill ran up the back of her neck before she had realized one of the Tal-Vashoth men had moved.

“Look at the little knife-eared whore, men, so shapely too.” She heard him say to his crowd. A low rumble of “appreciation” echoed in the room. She scowled as she made eye contact with the seemingly dominant Tal-Vashoth. He had painted a white stripe over his eyes, a stark contrast to the long black hair that danced around his shoulders. His lips curved into a sneer, revealing crooked, rotting teeth.

The Tal-Vashoth moved so that he was close to Miriel, who had not moved from her original central spot. The apostates were now watching her and the Tal-Vashoth with odd curiosity. A burly man group was scowling at them, and she wondered if it was because they wanted her or they were affronted to see her being mistreated. It was always a toss up, but it usually landed on the side of they wanted her for themselves.

“Look at you, little blonde. Look at your body, at your _ass._ ” The large man made a move to touch her but he never got the chance. She twisted out of the way as she unsheathed the knife on her forearm. She ended up behind him, her knife rested in an upward position between his shoulder blades, aimed directly for his heart.

“Look at you, dumb brute.” She mimicked his words and he growled in response. His men were then crowding around her, their hands the hilts of their blades as they scowled at her.

“Put the blade down, knife-ear.” The first man said and she was just about to do that when a tall apostate stood up.

“I don’t like people calling elves ‘knife-ears,’ and neither do my men.” The man said, his voice only shaking slightly. The rest of the apostates stood up then walked over to the towering Tal-Vashoth. “Back off.” Miriel rolled her eyes, these guys, while nice and well-meaning, had no idea what they were doing. But the group of burly men who stood up next _did_ know what they were doing.

“Yeah, me wife’s an elf, makes me daughter a half-elf. I’d kill anybody who called them a knife-eared whore, ox-man.” The leader, a large red-headed man with a thick Fereldan accent, said as he rose. His men rose with him and they all placed their hands on their weapons as they stared at the Tal-Vashoth. For a brief moment, time stood still as everyone took stock of their positions. Miriel was not as cornered at the Tal-Vashoth would like to believe. She could easily duck under them to make her escape to two extremely powerful apostates waiting outside or running in after Bull for back up. She had options. But neither of those options were necessarily needed since almost everyone in the tavern had stood up to stare the Tal-Vashoth down. Apparently it was worse to be Vashothari than elven in a tavern, or at least a sexist ass.

Tension hung in the air and the Tal-Vashoth refused to back down. The leader of the first burly-man group growled as he palmed the haft of his axe, about to let loose.

Bull chose that moment to reemerge from the backroom.

“Hey, Inquisitor, got what we came for, we ready to go?” He asked, dropping her title oh-so-casually as he entered the main room. Almost immediately the Tal-Vashoth backed off with their hands clearly off their weapons. Miriel slid the blade back into its hilt and the rest of the room grew even quieter as everyone turned to stare at her. The apostates’ eyes were wide with shock but the burly man group who had stood up for her merely shrugged then sat back down. The leader tipped his head in acknowledgement before dropping back into his seat.

Bull and Miriel left the inn, his face stern as they mounted their horses.

“Please tell me I did not subject myself to being called a fucking ‘knife-ear’ for nothing, Bull.” Miriel grumbled, aware that she wasn’t exactly being nice, but that’s what being called a ‘knife-ear’ does to an elf, suddenly you’re all frowny and defensive – particularly so if you are a woman.

Solas’s head jerked over to Miriel, concern and anger played briefly on his face.

“They did what?” He asked quietly, voice dripping with dark purpose.

“I’ll tell you later, Bull, what is it?”

“Yeah, and it’s big. Ben-Hassrath got word of a big shipment of red lyrium heading straight to Minrathous.” Bull answered. Miriel whistled.

“Damn, that’s big.”

“Yeah, and that’s not all. The Qunari are offering a full alliance with the Inquisition if we help take this shipment out. They really don’t like the red lyrium.” WOW. This _was_ huge.

“Where is this shipment and when it scheduled to leave?” Miriel asked and Bull sighed.

“By the Storm Coast, we have four days to high tail it there, meet up with another Ben-Hassrath agent and work out what’s going to go down.” Shit, going through Skyhold would mean it would take them at least six days to get to the Storm Coast.

“There is a route to the Storm Coast through Jader that will be quicker than any route through Skyhold can do. Katra, head to Skyhold, inform my advisors of what happened in the Western Approach, and then tell the Bull’s Chargers to haul ass to the Storm Coast.” Katra nodded then spurred her horse into action. Bull, Solas, and Miriel then started their journey to the Storm Coast to deal with the Venatori shits.

**

Katra made record time to Skyhold, and while her mount might have protested being pushed so hard through the mountain passes, it was necessary. It took her just over a day to get back to the hold, arriving around midnight to a very sleepy Skyhold. She didn’t waste any time. She immediately ran to the tavern, looking for the Chargers and finding Krem asleep in a chair, snoring.

“Wake up!” She shook the man awake roughly, still looking for the rest of the company. With a snort and a startled “AH!” Krem awoke.

“What the hell?” Sleep clung to Krem but Katra didn’t care.

“You need to get the Chargers together and ride out to the Storm Coast immediately. Bull’s orders.” Katra walked around, waking up Charger after Charger.

“What’s going on?” Stitches asked.

“Look, there are Venatori out on the Storm Coast trying to ship red lyrium to Minrathous and the Qunari themselves are fighting it. There could be a potential Qunari Inquisition alliance if this goes well, so you need to wake your asses up and _go!_ ” Seriously, was it that hard to understand? For Krem it wasn’t. He was up and pulling on his armor in record time, which then spurred the rest of the Chargers to follow suit. They were running out of the tavern in ten minutes. Katra followed them out, rattling off the specifics of their destination.

“Oh and the Inquisitor said you can use the Inquisition’s fastest mounts – now _go!_ ” Okay, so Miri hadn’t said they use those horses, but if they were going to make as good as time as she had racing up here, then they were going to need those horses.

It took the Chargers a total of thirty minutes to leave Skyhold on those horses, leaving behind a very tired and potentially still asleep Master Dennet. _One task down, one more to go._ The information could wait until morning, however, seeing as Miriel was going to be running a bit late to this show anyways. With that, Katra unloaded her steed and headed up to Miri’s rooms. The bed was a mess as per usual Katra suspected. She didn’t care though as she dropped her bags and fell into bed, not even bothering to change out of her travel worn clothing. She was soon fast asleep.

Katra did not wake early, but it wasn’t terribly late either, so she had that going for her at least. Her hair was a mess and there were bags under eyes, but with a bit of powder and a leather strip, her bags were covered and her hair was put up in a ponytail. Boom, gorgeous…kind of.

“Whatever,” she muttered as she changed into fresh robes and then ran to the War Room where the advisors had already gotten together, plus Cassandra and Morrigan.

“I have…important…information!” She wheezed, _when did I get so out of shape?_ Everyone stared at her for a good moment until Cassandra frowned.

“Well, what is it?”

“The Orlesian Wardens have been tricked into following Corypheus and raising a demon army!” Cullen swore, Josephine looked horrified, Leliana didn’t show any emotion because of her bard training, Cassandra’s eyebrows shot up, and Morrigan looked unimpressed. _That woman is a stone wall…note to self, ask Morrigan for pointers on being a stonewall, need to beat Fenris at diamondback someday._

“I was wondering how he managed to summon a demon army,” Morrigan speculated, referencing the dark future Miriel had seen in Redcliffe.

“Yeah, he tricked the Wardens into thinking they are all dying, and apparently seized upon that fear to get the warden mages to sacrifice the non-mage wardens to raise demons in a ritual that binds the mage to Corypheus.”

“How did Corypheus get close to the Wardens? They can sense blighted creatures and would know not to trust him.” Morrigan countered, and Katra shook her head.

“Corypheus didn’t approach him – a Venatori magister did. He somehow convinced the Warden Commander that raising a demon army and storming the Deep Roads was a good idea.”

“Do we know where the Wardens are holed up doing this?” The Commander asked, and Katra nodded.

“Adamant Fortress out near the Western Approach.” The room went silent for a brief moment as everyone realized exactly what this meant. Josephine was the first to step up.

“I will appeal to our noble allies for Trebuchets and other siege equipment.” She said. Cullen nodded as he leaned over the War Table.

“I will get our troops ready to march then.”

“Wait! Where is the Inquisitor? Should she not be here delivering this news herself and helping us plan?” Leliana’s words created another brief silence where everyone turned to her.

“Yeah, she’s going to be a bit late. Bull’s Ben-Hassrath contacts got word of a large red lyrium shipment destined for Minrathous. The Qunari said that if the Inquisitor helped them with this then they, the Qunari, will fully ally with the Inquisition. What that entails, I don’t know, but from what Bull says, it’s _big._ ” Another shock rang through the room. Josephine’s mouth actually may have dropped. The Ambassador quickly regained herself, however, looking absolutely delighted at the news.

“This is amazing, I am glad the Inquisitor seized this opportunity.” Josephine beamed and Katra was happy that at least someone in this room was pleased with the news. Scowls abounded as she assessed everyone’s reactions to Miriel’s decision.

“Very well, in the meantime I am sending out twenty scouts to Griffon Wing Keep to monitor the situation.” Leliana said.

“Stroud is still stationed along with Blackwall at the Keep.”

“I will tell the scouts to report to them, then.” The meeting about what to do was actually relatively short. Josephine would contact the Inquisition’s allies asking for siege equipment, while Cullen readied his men, and Leliana sent out her scouts. Nothing else could really be finalized until Miriel returned from her current mission, which meant that while it was important that the Inquisition have this information, action about the information would take a little longer than suspected.

It was a couple hours later, after Katra had found food that she found herself in the garden. She was hoping to talk to Morrigan about magic (how many pre-war Ferelden apostates were there? Not many, they should be friends in Katra’s mind) when Mother Giselle found Katra instead.

“Champion, I was hoping to speak with you.” The Mother began as she practically cornered the mage.

“Please, call me Hawke.”

“Yet you remain a Champion,” the Mother countered, tempting Katra to pull a Fenris – scowling deeply and dramatically, then walking away without a word. But Katra was not her lover, and so she stayed engaged with the woman with a very forced smile painted on her face.

“Very well, what can I do for you, Mother?” Katra asked, noting the Mother’s nervous countenance.

“Are you acquainted with Dorian Pavus?”

“I know he is part of the Inquisition and that he is a friend of the Inquisitor’s. Why?”

“I received a letter from his father, Magister Pavus, inquiring about Dorian.” Katra frowned, in her experience it was never a good thing when a Magister inquired about something.

“And why exactly is Magister Pavus contacting _you_?” The last thing the Inquisition needed was a traitorous representative of the Chantry…and to Tevinter of all places.

“Because I am a part of the Chantry, and he is familiar with what I represent. I believe there is some issues between Dorian and his family, which is why Magister Pavus wrote to me instead of his son.” Mother Giselle explained and while it made sense, it made _too_ much sense…like the reasoning had been rehearsed.

“May I see this letter?” Katra asked with her hand extended. The Mother handed over the letter, which Katra quickly read. It was then that Katra knew that Dorian posed no threat to the Inquisition and the Mother had clearly approached the wrong women to incriminate a man simply trying to live his own life.

“Why did you not approach the Inquisitor about this?” Katra asked, remaining calm.

“Because I am concerned that she is too close to Dorian to realize the potential threat he poses to the Inquisition.” _Potential threat, my ass._

“Very well, I will deal with this matter.” Katra said, and did not afford the Mother any more words as she finally left with a dramatic scowl. She headed to the library where she had once seen Dorian lazing about with a stack of books. She found him there once more, reading a rather salacious book she was embarrassingly acquainted with.

“Nice reading,” she commented as she approached him. He looked up from his book with an arched brow, but otherwise did not move.

“I picked it up off Solas’s desk downstairs, rather surprising to find such a naughty volume on the elf’s desk, I tell you.” With that he closed the book with a dramatic snap of his hand.

“That is really funny.”

“So what brings the former Champion of Kirkwall to my library?” Dorian asked.

“I’ve got a letter…from your father.” Dorian’s eyes briefly went wide and she saw the hurt and fear for a split second before he schooled his features into an acceptable flippant, flamboyant expression.

“My father? I see.” She handed him the letter which he read, his eyes darting back and forth and slowly lighting up with anger.

“’I know my son’? What he knows of me would barely fill a thimble. This is so typical.”

“What do you want to do?” She asked him kindly. He turned to her, surprised.

“I want to meet with this retainer, and if we don’t like him, or what he says, we kill him. You’re good at killing right?”

“Very good,” she replied and he smiled without any happiness.

“You’re okay with my plan, just like that?” He asked softly and she shrugged slightly.

“What can I say, I got a soft spot for men who avoid Magisters. Let’s go.”

**

Miriel watched the Chargers retreat from the battle field. The Iron Bull stood next to her, and try as she might, she could not get a read on what he was feeling. She could guess that he was feeling a mixture of relief, loss, and mourning, but she didn’t know. He simply stared out at the battle field below them, Chargers no longer in sight and Venatori cultists starting to infiltrate the beach.

“All these years, Hissrad, and you throw away all that you are. For what? For this? For _them_?” Gatt spat at them. Miriel’s eyes flashed with anger.

“His name is the Iron Bull.” She said low, maintaining eye contact with Gatt.

“I suppose it is.” The man resolved, his face forlorn. He walked away and Bull didn’t make a move to stop him, instead the large Qunari just watched the scene begin to unfold beneath him.

“No way they’ll get out of range. Won’t be long now.” Bull said as the mages below began to lob fireballs at the dreadnought.

“Bull, when the dreadnought sinks…” maybe they could do a search and rescue for the men, potentially salvage this alliance.

“Sinks?” Bull asked, his expression painfully vacant. The mages launched another volley of fireballs at the dreadnought. “Qunari dreadnoughts don’t sink.” Another volley of fireballs and a dozen small explosions and then the dreadnought burst into flame with a deafening explosion. Debris flew everywhere as smoke billowed up into the air. There was nothing left of the dreadnought.

“Come on. Let’s get back to my boys.” Bull turned from the Cliffside and walked away. Miriel closed her eyes still reeling from the events. She felt Solas approach her, but he didn’t touch her.

“Are you all right?” He asked and she shook her head, recalling what he had said to Bull and Gatt as they had approached the Venatori.

“No, I’m not, and you didn’t help the situation at all.” She bit at him. She was suddenly overcome with anger at the man, with his effortless wisdom and arrogance. He was always so confident in his assessment of _everything_ , and he always acted with almost no accountability because of course _he was perpetually correct_. But he wasn’t and his wisdom in asking her how she was feeling, his lack of interest in asking Bull… _No._ He flinched back, stunned at her words.

“Excuse me?”

“You insulted Bull and his culture in front of potential allies, even if this hadn’t gone to shit, _you_ could have jeopardized the alliance.” She couldn’t stand him in that moment. She couldn’t take        his support and his comfort, because it was too much. Too much to deal with the Wardens, with the Qun, with the Venatori, with Solas. _He wanted to comfort you,_ oh well fuck it, she was angry and Solas, the poor bastard was there for the whipping she needed to dish out. _Wrong, this is wrong._

“Inquisitor, what are you-

“You insulted a potential powerful ally’s culture! We have to attack the Wardens, one of the oldest and most respected organizations in all of Thedas, and after that we will still have to deal with Corypheus!” It was like this poisonous pressure building continually within her. This inappropriate lashing out was the only way to temporarily alleviate the pressure. _What am I doing?!_

“I was not the one to sour the potential alliance, Inquisitor, you managed that on your own.” She turned to him, her eyes blazing with fury.

“You emotionless bastard.” She spat before she stormed after Bull.

**

The ride back to Skyhold was tense. Solas and Miriel weren’t talking and Bull was hanging close to his men, as if trying to constantly remind himself that his decision was the right one. Miriel was exhausted, but she had to keep going for Bull, for the Chargers, for the Inquisition. She was beginning to feel herself slip, but she saw no other option. The world desperately needed the Inquisition and the Inquisitor by extension. Miriel felt like she was being swallowed by Inquisitor Lavellan. She couldn’t even remember when she had stopped fighting people calling her Lady Lavellan instead of saying Lady _of clan_ Lavellan. But it was what was necessary, every time she doubted that necessity she conjured up an image of her little sister and her even younger nephew. They deserved a future free of Corypheus and the Inquisitor would be the one to deliver it.

It took three days with crappy weather and even crappier company to get back to Skyhold. This entire outing had been dreadful, starting with the Western Approach all the way up to Bull being declared Tal-Vashoth. _Creators, this started with the desert._ It almost seemed like a completely separate outing, but it was all one, with almost completely drained rations and other provisions for the trip. The horses were also exhausted after hauling their asses everywhere. _I’m sorry sweet equine, I’ll get you some apples and oats back at Skyhold._ She put the mental note alongside about two dozen others.

It was mid-afternoon when they arrived at Skyhold, the weather still muggy and soggy, even up in the mountains. Everyone hopped off their horses at the stables, stable hands guiding the tired mounts back to their cozy rooms with plenty of food and water. If horses could talk, they’d probably be thanking their horse god(s).

Miriel was making her way to her quarters when Katra found her. The mage was in her battle attire, her hair pulled back into a utilitarian bun, with bags under her eyes. _Looks like the former Champion isn’t getting much rest either._

“Did you go somewhere?” Miriel asked, curious.

“So I got here, talked to the Chargers and your advisors, then Mother Giselle approached me.”

“Oh for fuck’s sakes.”

“Yeah, and it gets better. She alerted me to the potential threat of your Tevinter born mage, Dorian Pavus, and then proffered up a letter from none other than Magister Pavus, Dorian’s father.”

“Dorian and his family aren’t on good terms, they’re why he left Tevinter.”

“Oh I know, I just met the man.”

“WHAT?!”

“The Magister had apparently written to Giselle, wanting her to trick Dorian into meeting a family retainer to take him back to Tevinter.”

“This gets better and better.”

“But wait! There’s more! She felt like she was out of her depth in escorting the man to Redcliffe to hand him to the retainer, but she didn’t want to confront you because she feared that you were too close to Dorian to suspect anything.”

“So she approached you.”

“Exactly. But she failed to realize that I trust you, and more importantly, I was sympathetic to Dorian without even knowing him. I brought the letter to his attention, and from there Dorian and I went to Redcliffe to meet the supposed family retainer. Surprise of surprises, it was actually his father waiting there for us. There was an argument that turned into talking, and now Dorian is back here and probably pretty emotionally upset right now. Apparently Magister Pavus had tried to change Dorian some way, because apparently a man being attracted to only men in Tevinter is considered wrong, the bastard. I have done what I can, but what he needs right now is a friend, and you are the closest thing to that he has here.” Miriel closed her eyes as she took in Katra’s story. _Ah fuck,_ both Bull and Dorian were having a shitty week.

“I will change then find Dorian.” Miriel sighed as she ran a hand through her grungy hair, _haven’t bathed in two weeks._ Katra nodded and made to walk away, but Miriel stopped her.

“Katra…thank you for helping me with this.” Katra smiled deviously at Miriel, tired blue eyes glittering.

“No problem, felt good to be out in the field again, actually.” Katra then walked away, her energetic movement disguising her deeper exhaustion. Miriel envied the mage’s ability to disguise any physical ailment that could potentially be afflicting her, _maybe after a certain amount time of doing this job, I will develop that same concealment ability._

Miriel trudged up the stairs to her rooms, changed into less travel worn clothes, eyed the bed longingly, and then bounced back down to head to the library. She found Dorian leaning against the window in his little nook, staring dejectedly out to the courtyard below.

“He says we’re alike. Too much pride.” He said without turning to face her. She stepped forward, trying to exude as much empathy and sympathy as she could.

“Once I would have been overjoyed to hear him say that. Now I’m not so certain. I don’t know if I can forgive him?”

“Katra said he tried to change you?” She asked softly and she saw the pain on his face, for once his ability to conceal wasn’t working.

“Out of desperation. I wouldn’t put on a show, marry the girl, keep everything unsavory private and locked away. Selfish, I suppose, not to want to spend my entire life screaming on the inside. He was going to do a blood ritual. Alter my mind. Make me…acceptable. I found out, I left.” Oh by the Creators, what kind of parent could ever bring themselves to even consider doing that to their child? No wonder Dorian left…and no wonder the Magister hadn’t written to his son directly.

“Can blood magic actually do that?” She asked.

“Maybe. It could also have left me a drooling vegetable. It crushed me to think he found that absurd risk preferable to scandal. Part of me has always hoped he didn’t really want to go through with it. If he had…I can’t even imagine the person I would be now. I wouldn’t like that Dorian.” His voice was deep, raw with heartbreak. She wanted to hug him, but wasn’t sure how he would react, so she remained close but not invading his space.

“Are you all right?”

“No. Not really.” He paused as he leaned his head against the window, closing his eyes. “I should thank Hawke for bringing me out there, shouldn’t I?” He asked softly. She stepped forward and finally touched him by placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, but you can do it when you’re ready.”

“It wasn’t what I expected, but…it’s something.” He finally turned from the window and gave a self-deprecating laugh.

“I guess Hawke told you everything, Maker knows what you think of me now.” He gave a small self-deprecating laugh and her heart ached. Dammit, his father really got to him.

“I think you’re really brave,” she assured him. He turned his head, clearly surprised.

“Brave?”

“It’s not easy to abandon tradition and walk your own path,” she said softly, thinking to how she didn’t go through with the engagement to Dhavon, to how she was asked to leave because of superstition. No, it wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t always bad either. Look at her, she was doing so much for her people and there was Solas…wonderful, kind, thoughtful Solas who she had yelled at and taken her anger out on. _Dammit._ She needed to apologize, but how? Answers eluded her in her tired state.

“At any rate, time to drink myself into a stupor. It’s been that sort of day. Join me sometime, if you have a mind.” He said, lips curled into an almost honest smile. At that moment, Dorian’s suggestion sounded terrific. She needed to relax, destress a bit after the whirling shit storm that seemed to be following her around for the past few weeks. And plus, Dorian could help her brainstorm ideas on how to apologize to Solas.

Miriel smiled, “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good! I would hate to drink alone.”

**

Miriel and Dorian had smuggled up some Tevinter port from the wine cellar and were enjoying the vintage immensely when a servant came and announced dinner was ready. Miriel and Dorian exchanged a look infused with secret knowing that they had probably drank away their appetite. With a laugh and a giggle, they headed to the dining area anyways, tipsy and feeling better than they had in days. She may still be stuck perpetually as Inquisitor Lavellan, but she could at least pretend to be Miriel for a bit. The best part was that Dorian did help her figure out how to apologize to Solas. It was a good plan, a plan that would work…hopefully.

They entered the room, broad smiles and rosy cheeks from the alcohol to see that almost everyone else had already taken their seats and were waiting eagerly to begin eating. Notably absent was Bull who was probably still spending as much time as he could with his men. Blackwall was also of course not present, but other than those two, everyone else was there.

Solas glanced up at the two as they entered, his face blank of emotion. _Oh dear._ Dread filled Miriel as she sat down next to him. His mouth was tense and he didn’t give her his usual small smile of acknowledgement. She moved her knee, bumping it into his.

“Could you come up to my rooms about an hour after this?” She whispered, “please?” He took a moment before nodding.

“Very well, Inquisitor.” She flinched again, she hated it when he called her that – she didn’t want that barrier between them. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into his lap and kiss him until he forgave her, but she suspected that he would prefer words.

Dinner passed uncomfortably. Dorian and Katra were getting along great, splitting another bottle of wine. She was grateful when the servants came in and took away the plates. She quickly stood up and moved to the door.

“Thank you for the meal! And Solas, one hour!” She said quickly before rushing into her rooms. Ah, good, the servants had already gotten started. She grinned as she began to work.

**

Solas arrived precisely an hour later and thankfully, Miriel was a fast worker. She stood in the center of the room, next to the tub, smiling like a maniac, holding a basket of soaps and oils. He walked up the stairs and entered the room, his eyes quickly taking in the multitude of candles. He focused briefly on the tub full of steaming water before his gaze landed and stayed on Miriel.

“What is this?” He asked and she giggled before schooling her features into a serious, honest expression.

“An apology for how I treated you on the Storm Coast. I had no right to say those things, it was wrong to take my anger out on you and I am so, _so sorry._ I promise it won’t happen again.” She was emphatic, eyebrows coming together in sincere affect.

Solas walked calmly toward her until he was in front of her, taking the basket out of her hands, placing it on the floor, so that he could take her hands in his. She titled her head back to look up at him.

“Thank you, and I would appreciate if you would take care to not do that again.” He said and she shook her head.

“It won’t. I regretted it as soon as I said it. You have been nothing but kind and supportive with this whole Inquisitor business and it was completely unfair and wrong of me to take my negative emotions out on you.” Really, she felt awful and this was the least she could do. Solas gave a small smile before bending down to press a chaste kiss to her lips. A chaste kiss that she tried to make dirty but he pulled back to look at the room again.

“You still have not explained…all of this.”

“Ah! It’s a bath! A relaxing one with lavender and chamomile.” She explained, turning to the tub happily.

“A bath for both of us?” He asked with a wolfish grin. Miriel took in a sharp breath as a hot blush spread across her face.

“Uh, that was not the original intention,” she stuttered.

“What was the original intention, then?”

“I drew you a bath, I was going to bathe you…that sounded better in my head and when I was discussing it with Dorian.”

“Ah, Dorian’s involved, that explains the fragrance.” He teased and she briefly tensed, worried.

“You don’t like it,” she stated, disappointed that she couldn’t do this for him. Of course he wouldn’t like a frilly, fragrant bath with lavender and chamomile and candles. He was a practical man, not prone to engaging in frivolity. And how tipsy had she been to think drawing a bath _suggested by Dorian_ was a good idea for Solas?

“Vhenan, it is wonderful,” he kissed her cheek, “thank you.” He then hesitated before smiling wolfishly.

“But it would be made better by your company,” he practically growled. Miriel blushed reflexively as heat flooded her body. Oh. _Oh._

“I suppose I can be convinced,” she hedged. In truth, she was longing to sink into that tub to bathe away the filth of travel, but add Solas to the mix and she was having to resist stripping right then and there.

“Good,” he said. She smiled, setting the basket down and began to disrobe. Solas watched her closely as she slowly bared her body. She was battered and still bruised and covered in grime, but his gaze never wavered from awe and she felt like her entire body was going to blush from all of the attention she was receiving.

“Your turn,” suddenly Solas looked somewhat uncomfortable. Understanding that he may be more modest than she, Miriel turned her back to him and climbed into the tub. She sank slowly into the water, hissing in surprise comfort at the heat. The hiss turned into a hum and she leaned back into the edge of the tub, allowing her muscles to relax. She kept her eyes hooded and purposefully from ogling the man who was now stepping into the bath. It was unsurprisingly difficult, Solas was beautiful but he was also modest, and she respected that.

Solas sat in the tub, leaning against the opposite edge of the tub. His eyebrows raised quickly at surprise as he began to fully appreciate the heat and soothing herbs. Large feet bumped into Miriel’s legs and they immediately jerked back.

“I’m sorry-

“Oh no! Feet! Solas, you’re tall with long legs, relax,” she giggled and he tentatively allowed his legs to extend again so that his toes were brushing up against her upper outer thighs.

Miriel smiled at him and then dunked her head underneath the water. She came back up, running her hands through her hair. She then reached for the oils to clean herself when Solas stopped her.

“Solas?” She asked and he signaled for her turn her back to him. By the sounds of it, he was pouring the bathing oil she had been reaching for into his hands. She did as he instructed and then felt his hands in her hair, massaging.

“Allow me,” he murmured and she groaned, leaning into his touch.

“ _Solas_.” Merciful heavens, this man’s hands were wonderful. He applied just the right amount of pressure as he massaged the soap into her hair, washing it thoroughly. Her mouth was open in pleasure as he worked another type of magic. He eventually stopped to reach over and somehow procure the basin next to the tub that he dipped into the water, filling it up. He slowly poured the water over her head, making sure to be careful nothing got in her eyes. He did this many times, working the soap out of her hair.

Once he was done, Miriel turned back around to face him. She leaned over the tub and into the basket, procuring a special oil she had made in the newly constructed mage tower. She squeezed some of the milky concoction into her hand and then resumed her seat.

“Your turn! You may not have hair, but you have a scalp that needs moisturizing,” she informed him. He gave a small quick laugh before turning his back to her. She wasted no time in pressing her hands to his scalp to massage the oil into his skin.

“Hmmm,” Solas murmured, letting his head drop more fully into her hands.

“You like this,” which relieved her greatly. She was unsure on how he would react, so this reaction was wonderful. He reached up and took one of her hands and pulled it around to his chest.

“Ar lath ma,” he murmured. Her heart ached and she stopped her ministrations to wrap her other arm around his chest, hugging him, nuzzling his neck with her nose. She couldn’t say those three words yet, she didn’t know and she couldn’t say something so important without fully knowing that it was how she felt. So she kissed his neck, long and full of tender of affection.

“I love making you happy,” she whispered. There was a brief pause before she felt the air change slightly.

 “I am not done, ma vhenan,” he murmured darkly before turning in her arms.

“Oh?” She quirked a brow at him and he grinned, signaling for her turn around again.

“Alright,” she did as she was told, giddy with anticipation at what he would do. She heard him shake some oil out of the glass, then rub his hands together, lathering up before he began to wash her. His hands started at her neck, rubbing and scrubbing at the same time, but oh so sensually. He washed her lovingly, hands moving wonderfully across her shoulders and lifting her arms.

“You are so beautiful, emma lath.” He pressed his lips to the hollow beneath her ear, “I have dreamt of touching you, loving you,” he continued with his ministrations, bathing her thoroughly as he talked dirty into her ear.

“You should invite me to these dreams,” she murmured and he laughed, the rumble making gentle waves in the water. He pushed gently on her back, signaling for her to lean forward so he could wash her back. His fingers danced to trace the tattoo winding on her left shoulder blade.

“In one dream, I trace your tattoos with my tongue,” he whispered and she shivered.

“All of my tattoos?” The unspoken _the one on my ass_ hung between them. He smiled and dipped a hand into the water to touch where the curve of her ass began.

“ _All_ of your tattoos,” he replied and she squeaked when he squeezed her supple flesh appreciatively. He continued to bathe her though, only ever briefly straying to ghost a hand over her sides and waist. Soon she was almost wriggling trying to get him to touch her where she wanted him most.

“Patience, vhenan,” he cooed and she wanted to growl, _fuck patience, fuck_ me. But she didn’t, she simply allowed him this achingly slow pace. He took his hands away and she whined at the loss. He laughed low once more and she heard him pouring more of the soap into his hand. Once more he lathered his hands.

“Lean back into me, emma lath,” she did as he said, slowly leaning her body back into his chest, resting her head on his shoulder. He growled his appreciation as he placed his hands on her collarbone, rubbing in the soap. He trailed his massaging hands down, slowly engulfing her breasts but purposefully missing her pointing nipples. He waited until she was completely arched into his palms before flicking out his fingers to caress her nipples.

“Oooh,” she crooned as she turned her head to him, seeking his mouth for a kiss. For once, Solas obliged her wishes and bent his face down to hers, kissing her softly as he massaged her breasts and gently pinched her nipples.

“Your breasts are so lovely, vhenan, so lovely that sometimes in my dreams all I do is this…or suck them,” her feet arched and she pressed her thighs together at his words.

“Solas, you have _got_ to invite me to these dreams,” she muttered, earning another laugh from him.

“I will keep that in mind.”

“Good,” his hands wandered away from her breasts and down to her stomach. This was less of a turn on and more of a playful tickle.

“Solas!” She laughed as she wriggled in his arms. He did not cease his movements.

“Yes?” He asked, affecting innocence. She wriggled some more until he got the hint and moved his hands to her hips. She hissed in a breath, anticipating where he was heading…and being wrong. His hands dipped under her to grip her ass, massaging her cheeks. She gasped at how _good_ it felt, it was less of a pleasurable thing and more of a release of muscle tension. Who knew you could carry so much muscle tension in your ass? He gently eased her gluteal muscles with practiced hands and she was ever so grateful. Hands went up to massage her hips and it felt so good there as well, a bit painful, but in a good, purposeful way. She turned her head to his neck, giving him a sweet kiss.

“Mmm, ma serannas,” she said and he hummed response, affectionately rubbing his cheek against her forehead. She loved these little moments of intimate affection, they were better than any orgasm –

“OH!” While she had been enjoying the languid intimacy, Solas’s hands had not been idle. One hand remained at the back of her hip while the other had dipped to her heat, gently stroking her. Miriel’s eyes snapped open as her back bowed in surprise. Solas chuckled.

“Did I surprise you, emma lath?” He asked quietly, slowly circling her clit. Her eyes drifted close as her neck grew slack. She moaned as he touched her. But then he stopped. Before she knew what was exactly going on he had picked her up bridal style, turning her so that he deposited her sitting on the edge of the tub. She reached out, holding the edge of the tub. In this position the only way to stay balanced was to sit with her legs splayed out…giving Solas a very good view. His pupils were so dilated with desire that she could barely see his irises. She shivered as she watched him move.

“I need to wash your legs,” he stated simply, putting more of the soap into his hands. He lathered up and then approached her right leg. He began with her foot, massaging it, once more relaxing her muscles.

“Mmmm,” she groaned, enjoying the touch. He slowly moved his hand up to her shin and calf, easing more muscles. He tended to her dutifully, washing and relaxing her. _Man is a gift from the Creators themselves._

He started rubbing her thigh once more, dancing closer and closer to her core. She hissed in a breath as he got achingly close…but then he moved away to tend to her left leg. She groaned in frustration and he just smiled. _Tease!_

When he once again reached the apex of her thighs he stalled, slowly meeting her eyes. He washed the remaining soap of his hands as he maintained her gaze.

“Have you ever been kissed here?” He asked, running a knuckle softly over her folds. She hissed in a breath but was confused. What was he talking about?

“What?” She asked, genuinely confused. _Kissing her there?_ Solas looked taken aback.

“Truly? Your past lover did not tend to you this way?”

“What way? Solas, I’m confused, what do you mean ‘kiss me there’?” That devious look of his returned in full force, a grin twice as wide as the previous one taking over. His eyes sparked as he lowered his head.

“Oh vhenan, let me kiss you here, let me show you this pleasure, _please,_ ” Solas seemed very desirous to perform this kiss on her, and he rarely asked so passionately for something. She would trust him.

“Ma nuvenin,” she whispered and he groaned before even doing anything. _Weird._ He pushed her legs even further apart before setting upon her. Her back went ramrod straight at the first touch of his tongue. She gasped and suddenly understood _exactly_ what he meant by a kiss down there. He was literally kissing her down there. _Oh Creators, bless this man, bless our union, yessssss, ugh!_ His mouth was warm upon her, tongue circling and pressing with even more dexterity than his fingers. He sucked, nuzzled, and tongued her deep with obvious skill.

“Solas!” She cried his name over and over again as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Her thighs quivered, and she was struggling to stay upright and balanced on the edge of the tub. When his teeth grazed over her clit she moaned. When his lips sealed around her clit and sucked, she practically screamed. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck, fuuuuuck!_ She thought as he added a devious finger into the mix, slowly pumping in and out of her. It was so much, too much, but oh so right. He opened his mouth wide, sucking as his tongue laved at her. Her entire body shook from the pleasure. She found herself subtly rocking against his face, unable to keep her hips still as he pleasured her.

“Fuck, Solas, please, oh!” The sounds she was making…it was like she was a virgin all over again, and she supposed that in this regard, she was. Dhavon had never done something like this, would never even consider it, but here Solas was, on his knees in a tub licking her sex like she was the most delicious dessert he had ever come across. He was relentless in his task, and soon she felt her lower muscles begin to tense in anticipation. Pleasure pain wracked through her body as he mercilessly tongued and sucked her. Her eyes were squeezed closed, her grip on the tub turning her knuckles white, and all she felt were the flames of pleasure wracking her lower abdomen and vagina. Tension built…and built with every lick, every suck, every thrust of his fingers.

Her entire body felt coiled, ready to spring when finally, _finally,_ everything was released. This time she actually did scream, her back arching, toes curling. Her hips bowed and lifted from the edge of the tub. Solas went with the movement, apparently unwilling to part with her contracting sex. He growled in appreciation as he tasted her causing her to return a moan, eyes rolling into the back of her head. _Holy. Fucking. Creators._

**

Solas was on the edge of control. While Miriel fell over the edge of her pleasure, her orgasm pulsing through her with intensity, Solas fought a battle with himself.

Miriel’s shudders and moans were the most erotic sounds Solas had ever heard, and he had heard many, _many_ erotic in his life. The way she whisper moaned his name…each little noise ate away at what he had misjudged as tight control. And that was just from the noises she made. Her hips jerked and she pressed up against him, further fraying the ends of his control. She was unabashedly seeking her pleasure with him, and it aroused him to no end.

He felt her spasms with his tongue and fingers, growling happily. He could taste her like this for hours…maybe days. Her arousal fanned the flames of his own, hardening him even beyond his current erect state. He longed to thrust, preferably into the hot sheath before him. Solas groaned. He longed to make love to her, burned to do so, but he couldn’t – no matter how much she changed, she could not change the past.

“Solas,” she murmured, her legs still quaking from her orgasm. He felt her about to fall, so he rose from the tub, picking her up along the way. Her arms came up around his shoulders reflexively. Miriel snuggled into his neck and shoulder, giving him a small kiss. Solas’s heart swelled at the sweet gesture…as did another part of his anatomy.

He deposited her on the bed, and was about to pull away when her hands darted up, capturing his face for a kiss. He moaned at her willingness to kiss him so quickly after his previous activity. He wished to continue the kiss, but the pressure in his shaft could no longer be ignored. He broke the kiss, slowly backing away.

“I have to go, ma vhenan. You are so beautiful,” he whispered and he felt her rankle in response. Before he could move away, she was firmly gripping his shaft.

“Are you going to go take care of this?” She asked sensually, casually stroking him. Solas allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of her hand on him, his eyes flickering shut.

“Yes,” he replied, his hips moved towards her on their own volition, and he couldn’t blame them. He heard her move off the bed and get closer to him.

“Solas, let me tend to you as you tended to me. _Please._ ” She pleaded with him, and with his frayed control and raging arousal…

“ _Ma nuvenin,_ ” he replied. Instead of immediately sliding down to her knees, she kissed the hollow beneath his ear.

“Ma serannas,” she whispered. She kissed down his neck and chest, occasionally stopping to briefly lave at his still wet skin. At every pause Solas’s breath hitched. Miriel lowered herself to her knees, softly kissing his hip.

“I have had dreams of pleasuring you, as well,” she murmured, her face tantalizingly close to his swollen shaft. Solas’s eyes drifted shut, enjoying her sweet torture. His eyes snapped open when she rant her tongue along his slit. _Uhn!_ She licked again, moaning before she sealed her lips around the tip. _Spirits help me, this woman…Ungh._

Solas’s hands tangled in her hair, wanting to pull her down his shaft even more. Somehow he restrained himself from thrusting into her warm, wet, mouth. _Fenedhis._ Her tongue rubbed him and he let out a pleasured breath.

“ _Vhenan_ ,” he said, chest rising and falling quickly. Her eyes then flashed up to his, dark gold in the dim lighting. It was the sexiest thing he had seen in ages. Her eyes crinkled deviously before taking him fully into her mouth.

“AH!” he couldn’t help groaning as she suckled him. She sucked in long, sensuous draws, but he wanted it faster. Unable to control himself any longer, Solas thrusted. It wasn’t a hard thrust, but it was most likely jarring for her.

Miriel took the thrust in stride, understanding his now out of control desire. She quickened her movements, her head bobbing up and down in time with his thrusts. _Yes, vhenan, like that, just like that, yes, yes._ Pressure built, muscles coiled in his lower abdomen as he felt semen begin to rise in his shaft.

“Vhenan, I’m,” she gave a particularly hard suck as she twirled her tongue on his head, clearing his other head of all thought for a moment.

“Miriel, I’m going to…I’m close,” he murmured, trying to warn her, but it didn’t deter her. If anything, Miriel sucked harder, rubbed her tongue more. He tried to wiggle himself free, somewhat unwilling to spill himself inside her mouth, but her hands came up and fingers dug tantalizingly into his backside. Her nails dug into his flesh, scraping, and he moaned loudly as his own grip on her tightened. She jerked his hips forward, taking his full length into her mouth. _Over._

“ _I love you, my dearest heart, I love you more than myself and Arlathan. I need you and your love, don’t stop, love, don’t-_ “ he said in ancient Elvhen as he came in her mouth. She took all that he had, swallowing greedily.

Miriel released his now softening member, but he hadn’t let go of her. She rested her head against his hip, kissing his skin once more as he calmed down. Solas absently stroked her hair, occasionally caressing the tip of an ear. She nuzzled his hip lovingly.

“Solas?” She asked.

“Hmm?” It was the only thing he could articulate at the moment.

“I am…really tired.” She said and some part of him recognized that she had had an exhausting last two weeks. So Solas bent down and picked her up once again, bridal style. He bent his head down to kiss her hard and fast.

“Then let’s go to sleep,” he replied, moved to the side of the bed where he tucked her in. She was halfway asleep when he himself crawled into the bed.

Solas wrapped his arms around her and fell into a blissful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Midterms coupled with personal drama meant that I didn't have time to edit this behemoth. But 10k words, smut, and an appearance from Katra makes up for it, right?
> 
> I am still learning how to do this smut writing thing, so if you have tips, lay'em on me! 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please comment, leave kudos, etc. :)


	23. Cease and Desist

** Cease and Desist **

_Ambassador Montilyet,_

_Duke Antoine has been a most charming and gracious host, and has made himself a friend, indeed, to the Inquisition. His city is a wonder, and he was quite keen to display some of the improvements he has made recently. Of particular note are the wells, which use a red crystal to purify the water from which all humans in the city drink. Duke Antoine has not yet made these improvements to the wells from which the elves in the alienage drink._

_The duke assures me that concerns about some sort of disease affecting his city are wholly overblown, and has quite convinced me that his plans to rid the city of "the rats causing the problem" should be underway quite soon._

_I continue to enjoy my visit to Wycome, and I confess that I hope I do not hear the noisy clatter of the Inquisition's armored troops ruining my quiet afternoons. The elves of Clan Lavellan, by contrast, are quiet, like their poor cousins here in Wycome's alienage, and it might be a welcome change to my daily regime to see them in the future._

_Yours in haste,  
Lady Guinevere Volant_

**

_Da'len,_

_The nobles of Wycome grow more agitated by the day. They clearly blame us and the elves in the alienage for some disease that has stricken the humans of the city, and I have seen their scouts watching our new camp with predators' eyes._

_Some of the elves of Wycome fled their alienage to warn us. Others fled to escape the harsh treatment they are suffering in the city._

_I fear violence will come soon, da'len. I ask your help in this matter._

_Dareth shiral,  
Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellen_

**

_Task: eliminate any and all Venatori. The prime target is Duke Antoine of Wycomb. He does not need to be taken in alive._

_Task: eliminate all sources of red lyrium. Information tells us that it is primarily located in wells within the city and concentrated around human districts._

_We are to treat our Dalish allies as that: allies. Any slurs and or discrimination will be punished. Maker be with us._

_Jester_

_**_

_Keeper,_

_I have no standing army near Wycome, the only people I have are diplomats and spies. An army will take too long to get there and they may not even have the ability to keep the situation under control. I am sending agents into Wycome with the plan to assassinate Duke Antoine and to remove the red lyrium from the wells. I humbly request the clan’s assistance in this matter._

_Creators keep you and the clan safe during this time. I pray for Mythal’s protection and Elgar’nan’s fury against our foes. May they keep us steadfast in the face of adversity._

_Dareth shiral,_

_Miriel_

_**_

_Miri,_

_They want to kill us all! These shemlen know nothing but murder and hatred in their hearts. How am I supposed to bring a child, another child, into this world while they continue to hate and treat us this way? Please, little sister, help us._

_…._

_…_

_This is Maren again. Rana could not finish the letter. The pregnancy is taking a toll on her and with the stress of the shemlen trying to kill us…I will protect them, Miri. I promise. I will. We will live through this._

_Never again shall we submit._

_Love,_

_Maren and Rana_


	24. Scent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miriel heads out into the Hissing Wastes without Solas and brings along a souvenir of his. NSFW. Also, some side Doribull.

Solas couldn’t find his sleeping shirt. It wasn’t a huge issue, but seeing as Skyhold was getting progressively colder as winter began to settle over the castle, it would have been nice to have the garment. He then remembered that it was possible he had left the shirt in the Inquisitor’s quarters. As their relationship progressed, the more nights he spent there with her in his arms; but he was sure he had kept the shirt in his own quarters, she kept him warm enough most nights that he didn’t need the shirt. Still, Solas figured it certainly wouldn’t hurt to peruse her rooms.

He made the trek quickly enough and wasn’t hindered by the usual crowd that swarmed at the bottom of the stairs to her rooms. Everyone knew she wasn’t there at present; she had left that morning for the Hissing Wastes with Cole, Dorian, Blackwall and Cassandra. She had been talking about ousting some Venatori encampment to prevent reinforcements from entering the siege at Adamant the Commander and Hawke were currently planning. Dorian was more adept with dealing with his countrymen, which was why Solas had insisted she take Dorian over himself…that and he hated deserts. It reminded him far too much of an ill spent youth and also the sand was terribly annoying. He had traveled to the Western Approach with Miriel because she had asked, and now he had requested to not return. She thankfully understood.

Solas reached her quarters and began his search in the logical places. The couch, the chair, that odd little corner by the fireplace. He blushed slightly at recounting the ways she had disrobed him the nights prior before pulling him into bed. She delighted in touching him and he surprised himself by loving to touch her just as much. For a man so focused on the Fade and the non-physical, he was quite taken with her physicality.

His eyes were continually drawn to her bed. He smiled fondly at the still mussed sheets, shaking his head at her messy nature. She never cleaned her quarters, claimed that it made it feel too perfect. She had forbidden the servants from straightening her things. So she lived with messy sheets and tunics tossed tiredly onto the floor. He stepped carefully through the mess, gathering her soft tunics and piling them onto her designated chair.

Unfortunately, there was no sign of his shirt anywhere. He sighed but it was not too concerning, he could sleep with another blanket to compensate for the temperature.

A breeze rolled through the room, blowing in the rich green curtains. Solas thought of returning to his bed in the small room next to the library only to frown. The idea of sleeping in the bed that he had not slept in for a month was not pleasant. He eyed the obscenely large bed, mussed with an absurd number of blankets and pillows.

Perhaps…she wouldn’t mind if he slept here. She certainly did not mind it when he had stayed over previous nights, so tonight without her would not be a big deal, yes? Of course.

Solas shucked off his tunic as he walked to the bed, carefully folding his garment and placing it on the nearby dresser. He picked up the quilts, fluffing them out one by one then rearranged the pillows so that he would only rest on two. Solas climbed into the bed and exhaled. The bed felt empty.

He turned his head and found that the pillow he was resting on smelled like her hair. Like soft lavender and wild flowers. He pressed his nose more closely into the pillow and inhaled. Just like her hair.

His eyes closed and his heart clenched but felt lighter. He thought of her the other morning, turning her head toward him in groggy wakefulness. She smiled sleepily and lifted her foot to affectionately rub his hip.

“Good morning,” her voice was husky and low and he loved it. He hummed his own greeting, not quite awake yet. She then shifted over to him to snuggle into his chest.

“What did you dream of?” She asked and he sighed before resting his chin on her head and telling her about his dream.

The next morning, this morning, she woke him up again…but her methods had been very different. His face flushed and a shiver ran down his spine.

_He was slowly waking from a deep slumber. Sleep clung to him, but an insistent rubbing against his groin was quickly rousing him._

Solas nuzzled his face deeper into the pillow, inhaling deeply.

_Miriel made a small breathy noise as Solas pressed back against her. His arm, resting comfortably at her waist, travelled up so that his hand cupped a soft breast. Her back arched so that she pressed her breast more firmly into his hand. His mouth went to the hollow beneath her ear and she gasped his name._

He gathered all of the sheets and pulled them to himself, twisting his body to follow his head.

_Her head fell back and her eyes asked for his kiss, and he obliged. Kissing Miriel was like drinking water after dying of thirst. He could not, would not, stop. His hand travelled from her breast to her jaw to cup her face as he moved his lips against hers. Like always, he was always the one to initiate tongue. He was eager to taste her, to claim her mouth over and over again. She smiled and nipped at his bottom lip before opening her mouth fully to him._

That little flirty gesture had filled him with light and love, as if he had taken part of her into himself. Even now as he reveled in the memory of her lips on his, he felt himself lighten.

_She rubbed her tongue sensually against his, and he moaned. His hand dropped from her jaw back to her breast where he gently pinched a nipple through her shift. She gasped into his mouth as her hand drifted up to head and her back arched into his hand. His hips arched into her ass on their own volition, his arousal pressed up against the softness of her behind. “Vhenan…” he groaned. She turned in his arms so she could wrap her arms around him. He rolled on top of her and his hips pressed into her pelvis. “Solas…” he felt her everywhere, his mouth on hers hot and open. Her legs came up around his hips, holding him against her as their bodies ground against each other. Waves of pleasure crashed over him as he rubbed against her. Her moans spurred him on, her breath hitching whenever he hit a particularly good spot._

_She still wore her smallclothes and he his loose cotton leggings. “Solas, I need to…please…” He nodded and moved his hand down into her smallclothes. He loved touching her like this, she was like an instrument that he was learning to play, strum her the right way and she would sound like heaven itself. He rubbed her clit with his thumb as his index finger delved into her wet heat. Her head fell back and he knew that he was hitting a good spot. He added another finger and went in deeper. Her back arched and she moaned loudly._ Ah, there, _he thought and increased his pace. He was relentless and she reveled in it with her moans and grasping hands. She came for him on a low, drawn out moan. He grinned as he removed his hand, then moaned as her legs brought his arousal back to the cradle of her hips. He ground against her until he too came, making a dreadful mess in his leggings._

_They laid tangled in the mess of the bed for some time, just enjoying the afterglow…_

_“I’m going to miss you,” she finally whispered. He rested his forehead against hers._

_“I will miss you, as well.”_

Solas did not return to his bed that night, instead he remained in her bed, allowing himself to live in a world where he loved and was loved in return, if only for a little while.

_Somewhere in the Hissing Wastes…_

Miriel crawled into her tent, looking forward to sleep after the long hike. She rolled out her bedroll, removed her armor and then took out her souvenir - a sleep shirt larger than her normal ones. She smiled as she brought the shirt to her face and inhaled. Her eyes drifted closed as she breathed in his soft, musky scent.

She slept with the shirt all night in a comforting embrace. While she and Solas did not always share a bed back at Skyhold, it was becoming more frequent than not for him to slide silently into her bed late at night and for her to wake up to him cleansing his staff on the couch near her bed. His distinctive scent would be all around her as she woke from slumber and she would stretch her body so that she arched into the pillow he had slept on. When she did this he would watch her with an odd and intense heat in his eyes.

That morning had been different, though, waking up to his arm draped over her waist with his body still pressed up against hers. She had taken a chance by grinding up against him, and damn had it paid off. Solas had moved over her like he was possessed by a desire demon, and she had reveled in every second of it. The Creators had blessed that man too, his size was just…damn. He had changed out of his sleeping clothes quickly after their pseudo coupling, and she had snatched up his shirt, needing his scent to remain around her as her body reeled from his loving. Toes curled, knees went up, her back arched as she clutched the garment to her face. He had such a distinctively intoxicating scent that seemed to spur her into a frenzy whenever they were intimate. She wanted to be wrapped up in his scent all day, reminding herself (and him) of their intimacy. He was already busy with cleansing his staff and beginning his meditations so he didn’t notice her packing his shirt in with her things. She left her shirt and bedding for him, so she thought it a worthy trade.

Dorian was the one to wake her for her watch. He crawled into her tent and gently shook her awake. She gave a little groan and stretched her arms out, the shirt she was holding falling out of her arms.

“Oh, what is this?” He teased as he picked up the shirt. He made a slight face at the simple make. Miriel rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“A shirt,” she grumbled.

“I can tell that, I’m not an idiot. But whose shirt? Certainly not yours.” He dropped the shirt as if the worn cotton offended him.

“It’s Solas’s,” she said simply as she rose from her bedroll and reached for her hair brush.

“Oh and the plot thickens,” he said sarcastically.

“Oh please, Solas and I are the worst kept secret in Skyhold, he may not know it, but I actually listen to the people in the tavern.” She quickly ran the brush through her hair.

“Yes, but no one quite thought it was as serious as carting his belongings around with you when apart.” He said as she pulled on her thinner leggings. It may be technically winter in the dessert, but it certainly didn’t feel like it. The entire area retained heat better than a dragon’s belly.

“Well, he said he loves me so-

“He said _what_ now?” Miriel turned to the strangely energized Dorian.

“If you want to talk, let’s do it outside, where I am supposed to be.” She said as she walked out of her tent, arching her back into a stretch. Dorian followed her with a melodramatic huff.

“Fine, but I am not letting this slide.”

“Of course not,” she was tired, and while she loved Dorian, talking to him was often an activity in and of itself. She always felt she had to be bubbly to keep up with the man, and early morning Miriel was decidedly not bubbly.

“Who made the first move anyways? I am dreadfully curious for some reason.” She sighed as she sat on a log by the fire. The sun wasn’t to rise for another hour, so she had time to wake herself up before running through her stretches.

“I made the first move, he decided to go ahead with the relationship and we have grown closer ever since.” Why was Dorian so curious about her and Solas’s relationship anyways? He had never expressed an interest in her relationship before.

“And how long did it take him to make that decision?” Dorian asked.

“About a month…Dorian, why are you suddenly so interested in Solas and my relationship?” Dorian shifted in his seat before sighing and rubbing his knees in nervousness.

“The Iron Bull and I…kissed.” AHA! This was all about Bull! Of course! Bull had been bothered recently about something and here Dorian was, acting strange and awkward.

“That’s wonderful! You two are such a cute couple.” And they were! Just adorable.

“Don’t get your hopes up. He’s a Qunari and I’m a Tevinter mage.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed! But really, sounds like a racy novel romance to me, I say go for it…have you talked to him about it?” Miriel asked. Dorian shrugged.

“No…but I have never done the whole relationship thing either, it’s not exactly welcomed in Tevinter.” This was the most straight forward Dorian had ever been with her, which showed just how shaken he was up about this.

“Ah. You’re an intimacy virgin.”

“I am no virgin, I assure you.”

“Sure, you’ve had sex, but have you ever actually _made love_? Two very different things.” She said as she reached into her pack, pulling out some dried fruit to nibble on.

“You say that as if it is easy to make love to another man.” Dorian scoffed.

“And why can’t it be?” She asked softly.

“Look, love…love is not something done in Tevinter between two men, it is a dangerous emotion that destroys people.” His eyes were downcast, his face shadowed and her heart ached for him.

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not in Tevinter anymore.” Dorian didn’t respond to that, he just sighed and ran a hand through his hair. In the flickering light of the fire, he was even more beautiful than normal, but also strangely tragic.

“I suppose so.” He finally said quietly, standing up to finally retire to his tent for a few hours. His movements were tired and in almost slow motion. He ducked into his tent but instead of laying down he opened up a small pouch full of small vials containing a healing solution. He took one out of the pack and uncorked it, taking in the scent and remembering.

_The south was dreadfully colder than Tevinter. Dorian was actually contemplating putting on an actual shirt for travel when there was a soft knock on his open door. He turned to see Bull nearly taking up all of the door frame. Dorian turned back to his pack._

_“What brings you by?” He asked the man without actually looking at him. Hearing Bull speak was enough to excite his body.._

_“Thought I’d give you something before you left,” the Qunari said simply, the boards creaking as he entered the room._

_“Oh, a present!” Dorian did so love gifts, even from brutish looking but strangely enticing Qunari men whose idea of flirting was saying things like ‘I want to tie you up and conquer you.’_

_“Stitches makes the best healing poultices in Thedas, thought it would be a good idea to have it on you when you’re out there dealing with those Venatori shits.” Dorian finally turned to Bull who was closer than he was expecting. Bull was holding a leather pouch that he promptly handed to Dorian, who had been hoping for something a little…well, nicer._

_“This is a very practical gift,” Dorian said as he took the pouch and set it next to his pack. Bull smiled._

_“That wasn’t the gift, this is,” before Dorian could react Bull was kissing him, surprisingly soft lips moving his own. Bull had been quick in bending down and bringing his hand up to cup Dorian’s cheek to caress as they kissed. Against his better judgment, Dorian reacted and kissed Bull back, angling his head for better access for Bull. Bull took full advantage of Dorian’s concession, running his tongue along the seam of Dorian’s lips. A shiver ran up Dorian’s spine as he gripped Bull’s arms, about to open his mouth to Bull when the Qunari suddenly pulled away._

_“I won’t wait forever, Dorian.” Bull said before dipping down and giving Dorian another kiss, this one swift and hard. Dorian stood in shock as Bull left. He reached up absent mindedly, touching his still tingling lips…_

When Bull didn’t smell like sweat and death, he smelled like this clean healing concoction. Dorian inhaled on a sigh, finally admitting to himself that he might just be in like with the Qunari.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I ship Doribull. But really I just ship Dorian happy - with Bull, the Inquisitor, all by his wonderful self because he is an independent mage who don't need no man - then cool. It won't be a huge focal point of the story at all, but I wanted to show a bit of the world outside of Miriel and Solas. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please comment, leave kudos, bookmark, etc. :)


	25. Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas prepares a gift for Miriel and enlists advice from some of her friends. SFW

The plan had been made. Commander Cullen and Hawke were leading the army out to the desert where Miriel was already stationed with Blackwall, Dorian, Cassandra, and Cole. They were keeping a level presence in the area to make sure the Venatori couldn’t get a stable footing. Hawke would lead the forward scouts in a mad rush to help fortify Miriel’s team, while the Commander remained with the bulk of the army including the Trebuchets.

Solas waited outside of the War Room, wanting to catch Hawke before she retired to her quarters. He sat on the small bench recently placed in the hallway, the latest edition of _Hard in Hightown_ resting in his lap. He turned the page, almost done the book when the War Room door finally opened. Cassandra and Leliana were the first out the door, both holding papers. Leliana had a sense of urgency about her that had her power walking through the hallway and to her roost. Cassandra always walked with purpose and today was no different as she strode past him. They did not appear to notice him, and if they did, they paid him no attention. Cullen and Josephine were in deep conversation about the transportation of the trebuchets that were on loan from their allies, and they definitely did not notice Solas sitting quietly. Hawke was the last to exit, looking exhausted and rattled.

Solas always found himself strangely fascinated by Hawke. Here was a woman who had stood against the chaos around her in a city that had spurned her time and time again. Here was a woman who fought for her people with reason and stability, even as the world fell around her. She was a lone stone column in a burning forest, and he admired her for it. Solas also understood the tiredness and inevitable hopelessness that seemed to cling to her. She had stopped fighting the exhaustion, but he was gladdened to see that she continued to try to stave off the hopelessness.

Her red hair was a frizzy mess creating a copper halo around her head. She absently scratched at her head, tired blue eyes closing as she yawned. Solas marked his current page and stood, approaching the human woman.

“Oh, hello Scowly, is there something you need?” She asked, almost automatically. Solas almost regretted that he required her assistance.

“Not need, no, but I do wish your assistance with something.” He said earning him a quirked brow.

“That is interesting, I did not peg you for needing anything from anyone…well, maybe a specific _somethin’_ from a certain _someone._ ” She winked at him and he gave a small laugh. She wasn’t wrong.

“Typically this is true, but I find myself in a unique situation and assistance would be welcome.” Hawke nodded.

“Alright, what is it? Sex tips? If so, just ask her, from my experience, women love it when the man just _asks_ what they want. And man, when you give to us how we ask it to be done-

“That is not what I am referring to.” He stopped her, and she shrugged.

“Then what is it?”

“I wish to give Miriel a gift, but I am not quite sure what.” He was normally not one for gifts, he preferred to convey his affection in a less materialistic manner. The idea of a gift had come one night when he was in her bed, looking at her room and seeing her things and a few of his things, but nothing…connected. She had her things, he had his things, but they did not have things together or things they had gotten one another. Her words about the importance of gifts, about how they signified affection and intention in her clan. Receiving gifts was not important to him, but to her…he wanted her to know how much he wanted her. Every part of him _wanted_ so badly to be with her, and while it may come to pass that he could not be with her, he still wanted, _needed_ , her to know that he did want her and this relationship…whatever this relationship was.

And so Solas decided to get his vhenan a gift. Now came the difficult part: what he was going to get her.

Solas did not like seeking assistance with such things, but he truly did not know what to get a modern Dalish woman of her caliber. In the times of Arlathan he would have given her jewels or robes to court her, tomes of magic and magical items to show the seriousness of his intent, but now…now there were no jewels to give, and she was not a mage. He was out of his depth.

“I was not expecting that, to be honest. With all the seriousness going on with assaulting the Grey Wardens, for you to come up to me and ask for help regarding what to get your lover out of the blue is just kind of…”

“Inappropriate. Yes, I realize that now. Forgive my transgression.” It was a foolish idea in such a time, he should not –

“Awesome. Totally awesome. Yes, let’s do this.” Hawke surprised him with her eagerness.

“Are you certain?” He asked wanting to be sure, she snorted in an unflattering manner.

“Fuck yeah. The world is going to shit, it’s nice to see a bit of love before the end. What were you initially thinking of getting her?” Hawke asked as they turned back down the hallway, heading away from the War Room.

“Perhaps a book or a bow? She enjoys both greatly.” He supposed but Hawke frowned as she scratched her head.

“The bow is a no go, Fenris got me a staff once for my birthday, an awful Ironwood make that did not meld well with my magic. The person who wields the weapon should be the one to pick it out, especially if that person is a master, and that is what Miri is with a bow.” Solas nodded.

“The book then?”

“Solas, what do you want this gift to say?”

“I wish to convey my affection for her.”

“And does a book say that?” Hawke asked and Solas’s brow furrowed. He would love to receive a book…but perhaps it was not what Miriel would want.

“This is why I sought you out. You and Miriel appear to share a bond, and I was hoping you would have a better idea about what to give her.”

“You two also have a special bond, but I see your point. Let’s see…who does she spend her time with when she isn’t with you?” Hawke asked as they entered the Great Hall.

“She speaks at length with her advisors about all things-

“Socially, Solas. Who is her best friend when I’m not here?”

“The Iron Bull and Dorian are typically the people she seeks out most frequently, but Dorian is with her in the desert at present.”

“But Bull isn’t in the desert right now, correct?” Hawke said and Solas nodded but skeptical, _what will the large Qunari know about getting a gift for the elven woman?_

“He spends most of time in the Tavern when not training.” They then made their way outside and to the tavern, determined to find the perfect gift idea for Miriel.

They entered the tavern, the crowd currently subdued and mostly just engaging in private conversations. It was only midafternoon so the drinking wasn’t going to start until the majority of the soldiers were let off from their duties. In the corner was Bull, reading a report with the Chargers around him. Of course the man might actually be busy coordinating with his Chargers who would definitely be involved in the assault on Adamant. While Solas realized this, Hawke either didn’t or simply did not care. She strode through the Tavern, hair bouncing as she walked up to the Qunari calmly. Bull saw her out of the corner of his eye and turned to her, appraising her. Next to him, Krem rolled his eyes as Bull turned to fully face the Champion of Kirkwall.

“Hey, Horny, I got a preposition for you,” Hawke said playfully and Bull laughed as he leaned back, smiling.

“I knew it was only a matter of time before you came for me, that elf boy of yours can only do so much,” Bull played back and Hawke laughed.

“Alright, big guy, in all actuality a different elf boy needs our help.” At this Hawke nodded back to Solas who scowled _._

“No shit! What do you need? Sex tips?” Bull asked loudly, causing a brief awkward silence to fall over the tavern. Solas walked silently to the table and exhaled, exasperated, _why does everyone think I need help with sex?_

“I wish to give the Inquisitor a gift, and was wondering if Hawke had any ideas or if she knew what the Inquisitor would like.” Solas said reluctantly. He did not like asking for help, particularly from the Qunari.

“I then suggested asking one of her friends here, Miri and I have only had a few conversations.” Hawke supplemented, earning a nod from Bull.

“Makes sense, you two have been together for a while now. But I think Dalish here would be better at a gift giving idea, being Dalish and all.” The small blonde elf sitting next to Bull suddenly looked up startled at being mentioned. She was clearly a mage, but did not bear the marks of a Keeper’s First or Second…or even Third.

“What?” She said, her accent heavy and rather odd, even for a Dalish elf. The woman’s voice didn’t seem to faze Hawke though, who pulled a stool up next to the woman and began talking to her.

“What’s a good gift for a Dalish woman from her lover?” The elven woman’s eyes widened and she drew back a little.

“Gifts in my clan could be seen as proposals if they were romantic enough.” Solas wanted to throw his hands up in frustration, _this is what I get for trying to do something nice for the woman I love._

“A dance, gifts, what _isn’t_ seen as a proposal with the Dalish?” He asked. Dalish’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“A dance as a proposal, I have never heard of such a thing.” Solas could groan at this point. The Dalish clans were so different from one another that this girl probably could offer no more insight than Hawke or Bull. That’s when Cole appeared. The edges of Solas’s mouth turned up at seeing the peculiar spirit.

“Hello, Cole,” Solas said and the spirit shook slightly as he closed his eyes and recounted how Miriel felt.

“Lost, alone, no one like me here, no connection. _Alone._ Miriel misses her clan, you should help with that,” he said and Solas nodded.

“Something Dalish then? I am afraid I am not the most…familiar with Dalish trinkets,” Solas responded and Cole shook his head.

“No trinket, practical, purposeful, strong, suledin.” Solas nodded at Cole’s words. The Inquisitor would prefer something more practical than frivolous of course.

“So the Inquisitor wants something that reminds her of her clan?” Bull asked and everyone in the room nodded.

“What about Dalish armor? We just got that kid from the Exalted Plains who was a craftsman apprentice or whatever they’re called. He probably knows how to design Dalish armor and then he can work with Harrit on making it before we head out to Adamant.” It was a brilliant idea. It was practical, Dalish, and something she would use every day and hopefully think of him.

They found the Dalish boy and brought him to Harrit, inquiring if the armor could be made in time. Harrit assured them that he could do it for the Inquisitor, particularly because he was fond of the woman and he had been dying to try his hand at making authentic Dalish style armor. After consulting with Harrit about the colors and what they wanted the armor to do, Hawke, Bull, and Solas went their separate ways.

**

The armor was ready in six days, which was the amount of time it took to ready the army and trebuchets for the march to Adamant. Harrit presented Solas with the gift, packing it for him and telling Solas that he loved doing this piece.

It was twenty days of marching before they reached the outpost where Miriel was already stationed with her small strike team. It had been a hard march that had leached a great deal of energy out of the soldiers, but they were out here and would be marching on Adamant soon enough.

The entire camp had a serious tone to it, but that didn’t seem to stop the soldiers from drinking and telling each other tales of the Inquisitor’s heroism. As Solas walked through the camp looking for Miriel’s tent, he heard tall tale after tall tale about how Andraste herself had instilled in Miriel the holy light of the Maker to purge the demons and Corypheus from this world. They were good stories, though untrue. He wondered how she would be remembered in the future, after her battles had been immortalized into songs and stories that transformed from truth to legend. He wondered if history would remember her as a savior or as a defender and champion of the unheard and oppressed. He wondered if history would care to know that she was actually rather humorous and terribly compassionate to all. However history wanted to treat her, Solas would ensure it was well.

He finally found her tent, or rather her, since she was sitting outside of her tent with a large pile of newly fletched arrows next to her. She was running her sharpening tool against the points of her newly made arrows, readying for the battles to come. Her movements were quick and precise, well-practiced to the point where she probably didn’t have to think about the task too closely. He loved watching her like this, with her entire body so encompassed in one singular activity, her body moving expertly through any motion she performed. Her face was slightly scrunched in thought, her rounded nose would occasionally twitch as her fingers moved. The firelight was always kind to her, making her glow in deep golden hues. _She’s so beautiful._

Solas strode forward oddly nervous as he held the box containing her armor. He saw her ear twitch slightly before she stopped her movements and looked up. When she saw him illuminated by the campfire, her face brightened and a broad smile spread across her face. She set her tools down and leapt up. She bounced over to him where she lifted her arms as if to hug him before noticing the large rectangular box he was holding.

“Solas! What do you have there?” She asked and he grinned mischievously as he sauntered to the fire with the box. He felt her curiosity peak as she stayed close to him, getting glimpses of the box. He couldn’t resist teasing her like this, it would make the reveal all the better. He sat down and when she joined him he leaned over to kiss her cheek.

“I missed you, vhenan.” He told her sweetly. She smiled, snuggling up to him.

“I missed you too, now what’s in the box?” She tried to open it but he simply batted her hand away.

“A surprise. How has the desert treated you?” He knew he was torturing her by not giving into her curiosity, and he loved watching her squirm.

“Fine, but _you_ are torturing me.” She made another pass at the box and he kept it just out of her reach. She frowned but he leaned into her, his lips close to her ear.

“First tell me how much you missed me.” He whispered and he saw the involuntary shiver run down her back.

“So much that I touched myself while wearing your sleep shirt that I took-

“You have my shirt?” He asked, suddenly excited that he had finally located his missing shirt. She looked startled but nodded.

“Yeah, I took it because it smelled like you, where are you going?” The box forgotten he walked into her tent, looking for her pack that held her clothes. _There!_ He rummaged through it, finally finding his wrinkled but still intact shirt. He was admiring his shirt when he realized he had left her gift unattended. _Dammit._ He quickly left the tent to find Miriel holding the armor, a collection of chainmail and leather with a look of awe on her face.

“Is this…is this for me?” She asked softly as she turned to look at him. Solas sighed and smiled as he stepped forward.

“Yes. It is as authentically Dalish as Master Harrit could get it. Vhenan, I imagine it is difficult for you at times to be separated from your clan for so long. I wished…I wished to give you something that may help and to…convey how much I want to be with you.” He rejoined the very still woman by the fire. She stared at the piece then gently put it down before throwing herself at him. Her arms came around him in a tight embrace. He returned the hold happily, his face turning into her hair.

“Ma serannas, Solas. I love it.” She pulled back to kiss him quickly on the lips before turning back to her present. She scooped it up and dashed into her tent. As she quickly changed clothing, Solas found himself…longing. There were some things that never needed to be said, but ‘I love you’ or ‘Ar lath ma’ was not one of those things. She had danced around the sentiment with him for weeks now and while he suspected she did love him, he did wonder why she hadn’t said those three words. It was a troublesome thought that he shook from his mind. It was not wise to think of such things on the eve of battle.

Soon he heard a loud high pitched noise emanate from the tent. Miriel was then emerging from the tent, her hair pulled back in a ponytail and her body clad in the new armor. It appeared to fit perfectly, laying protectively on her slim body. Unlike the bulkier leathers she had been wearing previously, this armor was slimmer but denser and in a way more protective as it allowed for more movement. She wore a long but slim red decorative tunic that opened on the sides, displaying the bright silverite of her chainmail. A scarf the color of an eggplant was wrapped around her neck while her shoulders were covered by leather pads covered in phoenix feathers. Her feet were finally free but protected by the thigh high elf-style leather boots made from the hide of a wyvern. The leather underneath the chainmail was also wyvern hide, allowing for a more efficient and comfortable heat exchange than anything made with bear or snoufleur skin. Everything had been decided on carefully and with great thought. He wanted her to have more than just a token of his affection, he wanted her to own a truly wonderful set of armor.

“How do I look?” She asked coyly, spinning for him. Solas smiled as he stood and strode to her. She smiled up at him as he rested his hands on her hips.

“You are the most beautiful Dalish woman I have ever seen.” He told her truthfully, not allowing her to respond with words as he leaned down and kissed her like he had been wanting to for weeks.

**

Bull walked to Dorian’s tent, a tall Vyrantium cotton thing that anyone with an eye for such things could spy easily enough, with a bottle of old Tevinter wine in hand. He hoped that Dorian would be accepting of him and the gift, and if not…well there were at least five redheaded Fereldans he had seen marching with the army that he knew who would love to give him a reason to try to forget about Dorian. _If I could forget about him,_ Bull thought as he marched through the sand.

Bull was going to knock or make some noise asking permission to go into Dorian’s tent, he really was, but he was tired and he heard Dorian grunt as if he was in pain. With impulse control low and with the even the slight idea that Dorian was hurt, even if it was just a stubbed toe or something, Bull charged into Dorian’s tent. The man in question was laying on the ground covered in sweat and wearing thin cotton leggings. He sat up quickly at the noise Bull made, shocked to see the angry looking Qunari hunched over and almost crazed looking in his tent.

“What are you doing?” Dorian asked in shock, sitting up. Bull assessed the situation quickly, realizing that Dorian was probably doing sit ups or some other exercise.

“It sounded like you were hurt, so I, uh, freaked.” Dorian, now standing up, grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat off his face.

“Well, I am quite fine, as you can see.” Dorian said and Bull nodded.

“Yeah, I can see that.” Bull turned to leave but remembered the bottle of wine, “I got you some wine, that’s why I was outside of your tent.” Bull handed the bottle to Dorian who looked surprised once more before Bull made to leave the tent.

“You know I hate drinking alone,” Dorian said quickly, stopping Bull in his tracks. The Qunari turned slowly and smiled at the mage.

“And I hate leaving someone to drink alone,” Bull responded. Dorian finally cracked a smile as Bull returned to his side. They sat down and uncorked the wine which began a long night of talking, laughing, and sometimes touching and kissing.

**

That last gift to be delivered that night was carried by a soldier. The soldier found Blackwall sitting near the main campsite on a rather large rock. The man handed Blackwall the letter in his pack with a polite ‘Sir’ before leaving to return to his duties. Blackwall made sure the soldier was well out of sight before opening the envelope, breaking the distinctive wax seal. Perfume wafted up to his nose, an intoxicating scent of flowers – Josephine’s favorite perfume. He removed the letter from the envelope and read her sweet words over and over again, letting it relax him before he had to harden himself to the horror that was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff! Yay! 
> 
> On a serious note, next week is Adamant and the Fade. It will NOT be a fluffy or happy chapter (or two, it is almost 30 pages in length and I may break it up) and will actually be quite graphic. I will post content warnings at the beginning of the chapter to make sure to warn anybody who may be adversely affected by the content of the chapter, but I just want to warn you now.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please comment, leave kudos, bookmark, etc!


	26. Fear pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first part of the siege of Adamant and the Fade. CW for violence and blood. For those of you who decide to not read this chapter or the next, next week there will be a brief, cw free summary of what happened.

The night sky was aflame and death had emerged from the nooks and crannies of the old Warden fortress. Blood and bodies were everywhere, demons ran rampant, creating more bodies, spilling more blood. Screams, grunts, the snapping of the trebuchets as they launched boulder after boulder filled the night in terrifying sound. Fires blazed as rage demons waged war and soldiers on both sides fought for their lives. In the middle of everything was Miriel, standing tall and proud in her new Dalish armor – a glittering beacon of hope that this could be turned around, that all of this did not have to be. With her was Bull, Solas, Cassandra, and Cole. She had toyed with the idea of bringing Blackwall, but figured he would do better trying to recruit the Wardens up on the ramparts to the Inquisition’s cause than forging a path with Miriel to fucktwit Tevinter Magister and the Warden Commander. He was also the most vulnerable in the party to Corypheus at the moment and Miriel was going to be closest to that influence – it was just a bad plan.

The group battled forward encountering all manner of demons. The Warden mages’ minds were long gone, replaced instead with the will of Corypheus and red lyrium. Miriel chanted to herself that striking these wardens was a mercy; she was saving them from a life of diabolical servitude to the very thing they had pledged their lives to fight. Solas was quick to damn the Wardens for their actions, but Miriel was not so sure – fear was a hell of an emotion that could make even the strongest of people do awful things. She wanted to save them all, and she had hope that once the tie to Corypheus was broken that they could indeed be saved, but it seemed that she may be in the minority of that opinion.

No matter their stance on whether or not the Wardens should get a second chance, they had to reach the magister and the Commander before it got worse, and Miriel had a feeling that there was a very real potential that it could get worse. Katra and Stroud were up on the battlements, clearing a path for the Inquisition soldiers and helping with the demons above while Miriel and her close crew were the tiny arrow finding holes in the armor to get through. They tore through Adamant relentlessly, with arrow after arrow, spell after spell, blow after blow tearing into the demons and wardens who stood in their way.

Death was everywhere tonight, taking Wardens, demons, Inquisition soldiers to the Beyond. _Falon’Din guide them well,_ she prayed as another arrow of hers buried itself in the eye socket of a Warden mage. Her new armor had been christened with blood many times tonight, the shining metal now dark with gore. She was a Dalish hunter, dealer of death to animals that were to be consumed and thanked by the Dalish. She was the Herald of Andraste, saving refugees of the Mage-Templar war by striking down those who would harm them. She was the Inquisitor, champion of order, executing those who stood in the way of the order Thedas desperately needed. Miriel of clan Lavellan was all of these things, but never had she felt like a butcher…until tonight. Lifeless eyes stared accusingly at her as she sojourned forth, stepping over bodies of people who were sworn to do good. _Mercy, this is mercy._ She slipped, falling to the ground to find that it was not a stone she had slipped on, but on the slick blood of a disemboweled Warden. She flinched away from the body and the internal organs spilling out of the corpse. Cassandra pulled her up wordlessly, a silent command to keep going.

Miriel’s heart thundered in her chest, but she kept walking, kept firing arrows into the heroes she had idolized as a child. Her father had told her stories of the Wardens.

_“They are heroes, da’ean.”_ He had told her. Looking around now, seeing the destruction they had wrought, the apocalypse they were about to unleash upon the world…how could heroes fall so far that they became what they had set out to combat? She did not feel anger at the Wardens that Katra obviously felt. She did not condemn them as Solas did. She pitied them, but most of all she hoped that they could be stopped.

The group of five ran through the fortress, defeating all those in their way. Was it her, or were the demons getting easier to kill? Miriel was starting to be able to predict the movements of demons and react accordingly, striking a Despair Demon’s hand before it could lob ice at Cassandra, or shoot a Pride Demon in the larynx as it was about to lightning whip Bull. She and Solas worked even better in tandem, taking demon after demon out with minimal effort from the fighters. If Bull or Cassandra were miffed at this tactic, they didn’t say, just sank their blades deep into the skulls and soft bodies of the mages.

It was about two hours into the siege when the group finally made it to the main courtyard, which appeared to have been converted from a pleasant enough area, into the ritual center. Warden mages congregated around a gigantic, bright, pulsating rift that seemed to possess…eyes. _Oh that’s just creepy._ On the tall balcony stood the Tevinter Magister Livius Erimond and what appeared to be an older Warden mage. _Warden Commander Clarel._ The woman stood tall, her eyes icy and resolved as another elderly warden, a man, strode forward. He looked Clarel in the eye valiantly with love and determination before turning his back to her. Clarel slit his throat just as Miriel’s group ran in.

“NO!” She shouted, hoping in vain to stop the sacrifice. Hawke and Stroud ran in from another corner of the courtyard.

“Stop them! We must complete the ritual!” Livius Erimond shouted. Miriel scowled as she stepped forward, lifting a hand to stop the unsheathing of weapons behind her.

“I’m sure you can’t wait for Clarel to do that. How else are you going to bind her?” Miriel asked, her gold eyes boring into Clarel’s.

“Yes, Inquisitor, I want to bind the Warden-Commander to a demon. Everyone in this room already knows that.” _Shit._ Miriel had been hoping that the Wardens weren’t fully aware of exactly what Erimond was doing, but their awareness and willingness to proceed despite their awareness…it was damning. _No, not damning, always hope, they, I,_ we _can stop this._

“And yes, the ritual requires a blood sacrifice. Hate me for that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty.” Clarel stepped forward, bolstered by Erimond’s words. _Duty does not require such crimes!_

“We make the sacrifices no one else will. Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them.” She shouted, passion coloring her words. _If the cost is just as horrible as what you fight, then nothing has been gained!_

“And then your Tevinter ally binds the mages to Corypheus!” Stroud shouted back, emboldened by the crimes he had witnessed this night. There was a sudden hush in the courtyard as Clarel’s eyes widened and Erimond sneered at Stroud’s words.

“Corypheus? But he’s dead.” Clarel said in stunned breathless horror. _Beware the blind leading the fearful._

“These people will say anything to shake your confidence, Clarel.” Erimond whispered fiercely to her. Clarel turned from him, raising a hand to hold her head in pained thought. Miriel watched her take a deep breath, resolve taking form. _Please, choose right Clarel, you can stop this, please,_ please, _stop this._

“Bring it through.” Clarel declared. Miriel’s face fell as Erimond grinned in evil joy. The Warden mages pulled their arms back and arched their backs as they tethered the burgeoning rift to the core of their power, pulling the Fade apart to make way for whatever beast lurked beyond.

“Please, I have seen my share of blood magic and it is never worth the cost!” Katra pleaded with the Wardens in another attempt to sway them from the Magister. But it was futile, Clarel would not listen and the mages were incapable of doing so.

“I trained half of you myself! Do not make me kill you myself to stop this madness!” Stroud shouted as the mages stared them down, magic filling the space.

“Be ready with the ritual, Clarel. This demon is worthy of your strength.” Erimond instructed Clarel. _Oh fuck this shit, NO._

“Listen to me! I have no quarrel with the Wardens! I have spared those I could!” Miriel shouted to the Wardens. Those who were not addled with red lyrium seemed to pause, warriors slowly lowering their swords as they met with Miriel’s eyes. _I am not lying to you, I swear that I do not wish to fight you!_

“I don’t want to kill you, but you’re being used…and some of you know it, don’t you?” Miriel maintained steady eye contact with the first warrior who had lowered his sword, resolve with Clarel’s cause faltering. Finally he broke.

“The mages who’ve done the rituals? They’re not right. They were my friends, but now they’re like puppets on a string.” He lamented and Miriel’s heart went out to him, poor man losing his friends to Corypheus. Clarel stepped forward, needing to command her faltering army to stand by her.

“You cannot let fears sway your mind, Warden Chernoff!” The Warden-Commander shouted. _Now that is ironic._

“He’s not afraid, you are. You’re afraid that you ordered all these brave men and women to die for nothing.” Katra said, her steely blue eyes filled with barely restrained rage.

“I honor your bravery, my brothers and sisters. But this is not the way. You have been tricked.” Stroud gave one last tug to convince the Wardens and it…worked. The Warden warriors turned to Clarel, raising the swords once more as they glared hatefully at her. Even Clarel appeared to be wavering, her brows drawing together in slow understanding of what she had done. She turned to Erimond. _Yes, fight the fear._

“Clarel, we have come so far. You’re the only one who can do this.” Erimond said but Clarel was having none of it.

“Perhaps we could test the truth of these charges, to avoid more bloodshed.” Hope began to spring forth in Miriel. They could save the Wardens, it was possible. The road to redemption would be difficult, of course, but the world still needed –

“Or perhaps I can bring in a more reliable ally.” Erimond growled, not bothering to hide his anger and disgust toward the Wardens. He turned from Clarel and began banging his staff against the ground, red lyrium sparking from the clash.

“My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor! He sent me this to welcome you!” A roar shook the entire fortress and fearful dread replaced the hope that had been growing in Miriel. _NO!_ She cried in her mind as a great shadow ran over the courtyard. The dragon spewed red lyrium as it flew, striking down many of those who were now opposing Erimond. As the dragon approached, Clarel’s face turned to comprehending shock. She had done this, and this was the price. She began slowly backing up, bearing her staff in a white-knuckled grip. Erimond strode forward with a yellow-toothed, sniveling grin. The earth shook with the dragon landing on one of the towers, roaring and flapping its wings in a terrifying display. The creature looked at every person in the courtyard, and Miriel could have sworn that it wasexcited by the idea of slaughtering everyone there.

Electricity suddenly charged the air as a bolt of lightning struck Erimond in the back. He screamed as he turned to see Clarel, clearly in a battle stance, her face hardened with resolve. He fell to the ground, writhing as the electricity coursed through his body. The dragon whipped its head to Clarel, locking onto its prey. Erimond tried to plead with Clarel, but there was no turning back for her. The only way out of this mire was forward, and forward was killing that dragon.

Miriel watched the Warden-Commander launch a large ball of electricity at the dragon. The creature seemed unaffected as it inhaled, exhaling a bolt of red lyrium at the mage. Clarel dove, the dragon took off, and Erimond finally leapt to his feet.

“HELP THE INQUISITOR!” Clarel shouted over the roar of the dragon, taking off after the dragon. Erimond made an arching gesture with his hand and the entire courtyard erupted into a battle. The corrupted mages summoned demons and attacked while the warriors and rogues jumped to the defense of the Inquisition.

“Go Inquisitor! We will hold them off!” The Warden Chernoff declared as he ran a sword through a mage. Miriel engaged with the Wardens for few moments, quickly firing arrows into skulls and felling demons as her group made their way up the courtyard after Clarel. When they were finally out of range, they turned and bolted after Clarel. Demons sprang up from the cobblestones, attempting to stop them from reaching Clarel. They were no challenge to the group, however, with all seven of them skilled in killing demons.

They ran hard through the fortress, avoiding the red lyrium spewed by the dragon as much as possible. The prickling pain of the corrupted lyrium plagued Miriel, but it did not slow her as she ran, her bare feet carrying her across the pavement.

They finally seemed to catch up to Clarel and Erimond at a large balcony overlooking the abyssal desert. Clarel was staring Erimond down, lightning leaping from her hand as she sneered at him.

“You!” Clarel roared, “You destroyed the Grey Wardens!” Erimond launched fireballs at her but they were deflected away by her barrier. Erimond tried to scamper away, but found himself cornered by Clarel against the broken edge of the balcony. He made to cast another attack but found himself being launched back by a stone fist from Clarel’s staff. He fell back, his staff skittering away. Despite the blood dripping from his mouth and the already forming bruises on his face, Erimond laughed at Clarel.

“You did that yourself, you stupid bitch. All I had to do was dangle a little power before your eyes. And you couldn’t _wait_ to get your hands bloody!” His defiance only enraged Clarel further. She took her staff back and launched a swath of lightning at Erimond. He flew up the balcony toward Miriel and her group, writhing in pain as electricity coursed through his body. Miriel and her compatriots could intervene, but this was Clarel’s fight, and Miriel knew better than to get between a pissed off woman and her prey.

“You could have served a new god,” Erimond hissed, his body hunched and quivering on the floor. Clarel stalked her prey, inching closer, letting him suffer.

“I will _never_ serve the Blight!” She growled as she reared back to deliver the killing blow to Erimond. The dragon would not allow his master’s pet to be so easily defeated, however. It landed behind Clarel, dipped its head down and snatched up Clarel in its teeth. It flew to the top of the gate that Miriel and her group had come through, shook the Warden-Commander and tossed her without a care. Clarel landed with a sickening thump and crack on the ground as Miriel looked on with horror. The shock was short lived as Miriel realized that the dragon was now staring _her_ down, crawling down the gate, growling menacingly as it stalked the elf. Miriel began to back up along with the party, slowly being herded to the edge of the broken balcony.

Clarel was crawling towards the Inquisitor. Her legs horribly mangled and most likely paralyzed. She bled profusely from…everywhere. There was no way the woman would survive her injuries or could really fight, but her spirit was not yet broken as she pulled her body with her remaining strength toward Miriel.

“In war, victory…” Clarel grit out, the dragon catching up to her and absently stepping on the woman, turning her body over.

“In peace, vigilance….” She continued, turning onto her back so that all she saw was the black scaled underbelly of the beast.

“In death, sacrifice.” With the verse completed, Clarel reached up and with the last of her magical reserves, gutting the dragon with a blast of lightning. It roared as the lightning coursed through its body, tripping and sliding forward with the acceleration of the magic. The beast flailed and turned violently, moving down the balcony towards Miriel and the party.

Miriel dove out of the way of the dragon, hearing the shouts and cries of her friends as they leaped out of the way. She felt more than saw the dragon fall off the balcony, its roars echoing up from the chasm beneath.

Blood pounded in Miriel’s ears as she clung to the rocks of the balcony. Even with the dragon gone, the balcony continued to shake and groan, as if in pain. She heard Solas shout and then the entire structure began to crumble beneath them. She was automatically launching herself back before she knew what she was even doing, running along the crumbling structure, desperate to get to stable ground. She fell often, scrambling, hurrying…and then she turned back at Stroud’s cry.

The man was older and had stumbled too soon in the mad dash back to safety. He was on his back, about to slide down. With a split second decision, Miriel ran back and grabbed the man, hauling him up with all her strength. When he was standing she pushed him, shouting “GO!”

But none of them were fast enough. The entire balcony gave out beneath them, falling into the cavernous abyss below.

This was not how it was supposed to end, not in the dark after seeing the destruction of the Grey Wardens. _No, there’s hope for them…and for us too._ She twisted in mid fall, reaching out with her marked hand, sensing a weak spot in the Fade. Normally she thought ‘close’ but now she focused and thought hard on the idea of ‘open.’ Then everything went black.

**

Falling. Constantly falling.

Tingling. Touching. Falling. _Black._

….

LIGHT! So much light!  _Green._

Miriel’s eyes adjusted slowly as she continued to fall. And everything seemed…weird. Floating pieces of rocks were everywhere, and the light was a filtered diluted green. She fell rapidly towards the ground, and she tried to twist her body to prepare for impact, but found herself locked into a head first collision. _Shit, shit, shit!_ She reached her arms out to break her fall, when she suddenly stopped. Her fingers dangled a mere inch from the ground when the entire world seemed to do a 180 around her. She fell on her back with an oomph, but was otherwise unharmed.

She stood up, awkwardly finding her footing, looking around her. She appeared to be standing on a sand bank that rose out of shallow tepid water. Large boulders hovered in the air, bobbing as if the air was water. There was a concentrated swirling green mist in the…sky, twisting around the boulders.

“Where are we?” That was Stroud’s voice, echoing nearby. Miriel turned her head toward the sound not seeing him on the ground. _Where…?_ There he was, standing on the side of one of the floating boulders. Stroud looked around, just as bewildered by his surroundings as Miriel was. He was above her, seemingly unaffected by the gravity acting upon Miriel. _Weird._

“We…we were falling. Perhaps we landed.” That was Katra’s voice. Miriel turned to see the woman standing on another floating boulder. Her hair had come undone in the chaos, her bun unraveled into a mess of glowing copper curls. Katra seemed dazed as she wandered on her boulder.

“No, this is the Fade,” Solas’s voice! That meant he was uninjured, or at least alive and about to be uninjured. A wave of relief went washed over Miriel. She turned to the sound of his voice to find him on her level, with his back to her staring up into the sky where there was a glowing light.

“The Inquisitor opened a rift. We came through…and survived. I never thought I would find myself here physically…Look. The Black City, almost close enough to touch.” His voice was wistful, and awe was written all over his face as he gazed into the distance.

“Wow,” it was all Miriel could say as she looked at her surroundings. This was _nothing_ like the Fade she was used to seeing in her dreams. Even in the dreams that Solas would lead her into, the deep memories he had explored, it had never been like this. That Fade was all warped by the mind, but this…this was what the Fade _actually_ looked like, how it existed without any mental influences.

The sand was soggy beneath her feet, and she could see gas bubbles rise out of the water in the distance…without popping. The water was black, glassy, and with translucent spots as it appeared to move like some sort of creature. There were no consistent tides or winds, everything just seemed to have a will that was expressed in physical movement in some fashion. Rocks would appear, float, and then fall to the ground, rolling away into the water. The water itself seemed to slither and move sinuously, more like a snake-like creature than the oceans or lakes, or even puddles, of the physical world.

“Cole, how does it feel to be back home?” Solas asked, turning to the anxious looking Cole. Miriel found it odd that he had retained his physical self, despite most likely having a non-physical spirit self that would be more conducive to this environment. But she supposed it made sense, his physical body had fallen just like the rest of them through the Rift.

“I can’t be here. Not like this, not like me!” Cole stumbled about, looking around frantically as his entire body appeared to vibrate. He took a defensive stance, eyes darting to and fro, looking, watching. Solas approached him calmly, trying to make eye contact with Cole.

“It’s all right. We’ll make it right.” Solas said, trying his best to comfort the distraught spirit boy.

“This place is wrong. I made myself forget when I made myself real, but I know it wasn’t like this.” So this wasn’t how the Fade was supposed to look? Or maybe there were different parts of the Fade, and not all of them appeared like this eerie place.

“It’s not how I remember the Fade either,” Katra murmured, walking along her boulder to join the conversation more fully.

“Maybe it’s because we’re here physically, and not just dreaming,” She supposed, and Miriel agreed with her. The dream world they were all familiar with was experiencing the Fade with a sort of mentally influenced filter…this was without that barrier.

“The stories say you walked out of the Fade in Haven, was it like this?” Katra asked, and Miriel looked around, a nagging familiarity tickling the back of her neck. She searched her mind, desperate to remember but as much as she looked at the world around her, she couldn’t clear that blackspot in her memory.

“I don’t know. I still can’t remember the last time I did this.” Miriel replied, walking around.

“Well, whatever happened at Haven, we can’t assume we’re safe now. That huge demon was on the other side of that rift Erimond was using, and there could be others.” Katra brought up a very, very good point about demons. They were even more dangerous while dreaming, but who knew how much more powerful they were now that they were here physically rather than simply mentally.

“Oh this is shitty,” Iron Bull said, finally speaking up about the situation. Miriel turned to see him standing in shallow water, clearly on edge.

“I’ll fight whatever you give me, boss, but nobody said nothing about getting dragged though the ass end of demon town.”

“Miriel, do you think you could open us up a Rift so we can get out of here?” Katra asked.

“Even if I could, which I don’t think I could, we would just be falling to our deaths again,” Miriel explained.

“Right.”

“In the real world, the rift with the demons in it was nearby, in the main hall. Can we get out the same way?” Stroud asked.

“It beats waiting around for demons to find us, right?” Miriel supposed.

“It does, and I am all for it…but Stroud and I are a bit, um, stuck on a couple of floating rocks.” Katra said, looking around hesitantly. She tapped the rock with her boot tentatively, moving down to the tip of the boulder.

“Bull, can you give Hawke a hand?” Miriel asked, and the Qunari nodded, eyeing his surroundings suspiciously. The man would remain on edge for the entire time they were here, Miriel knew. The sounds of yawning and skittering demons seemed to echo everywhere, and they would bore into Bull slowly driving him closer and closer to the brink the newly emancipated Qunari had been desperately trying to avoid. He stepped forward and reached up to the mage.

“I should not have eaten that pie last night,” Katra muttered as Bull put his hands on Katra’s waist. She leaned down, put her hands on his shoulders, and then he lifted her down.

“You’re not heavy,” Bull responded, looking grateful for Katra’s banter. He set her down then went over to Stroud to help him down, but the Warden just jumped down.

“Oh show off,” Katra muttered, trying to combat the horrible gnawing fear beginning to coil in her stomach. Her eyes were dark but attentive as they methodically scanned the area, taking in every miniscule movement.

“Wait, where’s Cassandra?” Miriel looked around, turning, twisting, ah! There Cassandra was, staring up at the Black City with a despondent look on her face.

“I am here, Inquisitor,” the Seeker answered, her stance not wavering.

“Cassandra, are you all right?” Miriel asked, concerned.

“Yes, let’s go.” She said and that was it. They all turned towards the rift rippling in the distance. It was far, but they could make it, they would have to. Everyone was somber as they began to trudge through the murk…everyone except Solas.

“This is fascinating.” He cooed, dipping a toe into the water and watching the liquid slither around the digit. Bull looked like he was about to be sick as he watched.

“It is not the area I would have chosen, of course. But to physically walk within the Fade…” the man was absolutely enraptured with the place. Miriel looked at Solas, confused.

“Oh, yeah, this must be a dream come true for your crazy ass.” Bull muttered.

“Yes. Literally,” not even Bull’s quip seemed to dampen Solas’s current state.

“Solas, you’re the expert on this place. Anything helpful?” Miriel asked, her foot getting sucked into a particularly damp part of the sand. She grimaced as she sloughed forward.

“The Fade is shaped by intent and emotion. Remain focused, and it will lead you where you want to go. The demon that controls this area is extremely powerful. Some variety of fear, I would guess. I suggest you remain wary of its manipulations and prepare for what is certain to be a fascinating experience.” If ‘fascinating’ meant ‘terrifying beyond all measure’ then no, Miriel supposed that they could never be properly prepared for that.

**

As the spirit of the Divine faded, Cassandra’s face fell. She was horrified and hateful and filled with sorrow all at the same time. This place…it was lost to the Maker, tainted by man’s corruption and hubris. Corypheus. This place was wrecked by Corypheus and his associates. The Divine…she was dead because of that sick bastard. She could have done so much for the world if that creature hadn’t risen from its grave, if it hadn’t defied the Maker and His divinity. But here they were, standing on a rocky hill in the Fade, surrounded by creeping water and distant echoing laughs of cruelty.

Cassandra looked ahead, the rift leading back into the physical world seeming a world away. _We will never make it._ They were stuck here in this horrid squalor, feeding demons and failing to stop Corypheus.

She should have tried harder to prevent this. She should have told Varric exactly what was at risk if the Champion wasn’t recruited. She should have stayed beside Justinia the entire time in Haven, guarding her, as a proper Right Hand is supposed to do. She should have accompanied the Inquisitor to the Western Approach, she could have killed Erimond and prevented his further corruption of the Wardens.

This was Cassandra’s fault, and she should pay the price. She could not protect the Divine, how could she ever aspire to protect the Inquisitor?

But why did the Divine need protection? She was the most holy, she would was supposed to be the connection to the Maker for the physical world. Preaching and singing Andraste’s songs for the Maker. How could he allow this? How could he turn his back on his children, no matter how wayward they were?

_There is no Maker,_ a voice whispered in her head and she felt herself sink into the idea. No Maker. No faith… _lost._

“Don’t listen to them, they wrong,” a voice said loudly, jarring her out of whatever reverie Cassandra was in.

“What?” She asked, confused. Cole turned to her, his expression understanding and kind.

“The demon, he says you that you are worthless, helpless, hopeless, lost, but you’re not. You are with us, with Miriel and Solas and Bull and Katra and Stroud and me. You are not lost, and you _can_ help. Your faith is not pointless.” The boy stuck his hand out, uncharacteristically inviting contact. Under normal circumstances, Cassandra would refuse the hand, not wanting to touch a creature so explicitly related to demons…but these were not normal circumstances. Cassandra took the boy’s hand and with his help walked forward toward the group.

With every step she took her mind became clearer. Her resolve hardened and she felt indignation bloom with her determination.

_Die in the Void, demon. I will send you there myself._

**

It was like being punched without having the ability to punch back. Her entire body felt like it was held captive and being torn apart at the same time as it relived the memory the Anchor had just absorbed for her. Before her was a stone room, the arches and age of the wood beams told her that this was part of the Temple at Haven. Miriel remembered a nagging feeling in her gut, and she thought it might be hunger. That same nagging feeling had her donning her mercenary disguise armor and waking her hunting partner, Dinas. A pain rolled through Miriel as she saw the man’s face before her, _oh Dinas, no._

Miriel watched as the past form of herself and Dinas walk through the halls of the Temple, finding themselves at the top of some stairs. The nagging feeling in Miriel’s gut was now a full blown roil, and that was when she heard him.

“Now is the hour of our victory,” it was a low whisper, barely audible through the stone and wood, but Miriel’s hearing was superb. The words and tone were hostile, Dinas looked at his partner but she was already taking off down the stairs. _Something is wrong,_ her gut was saying, her mind was crying. Dinas followed at a brisk pace, taking out his bow and notching an arrow.

“Why are you doing this? You of all people?” That was definitely Divine Justinia’s voice, frightened and confused. _WRONG!_

“Keep the sacrifice still,” the low whisper of a voice once more, this time louder, harsher. _Sacrifice?_

“Someone help me!”

Miriel thrust the doors open at the bottom of the stairs to find a horrifying scene. There was a circle of red eyed Grey Wardens, their garb and corruption marking them as mages. A few held their arms up, red energy lines emanated from their arms as they held still the floating Divine. She was still, but her face was full of horror as she gazed upon the terror that was Corypheus. The Darkspawn Magister held the Elvhen orb, his gaze and intent certain as the green energy of the orb began to envelope the Divine.

“What’s going on here?” Miriel demanded as she burst through. Dinas immediately took aim for Corypheus. All heads turned to the two elves now standing in the doorway. With Corypheus distracted by the intrusion, the Divine somehow broke free of the magical hold long enough to smack the orb out of Corypheus’s hand. The orb fell to the ground with a loud thunk, rolling to Miriel. She knew even then that it was not right for such a twisted creature to hold this, it was his source of power, he could not have it back. She bent down and grabbed hold of the thing, meaning to keep it from him. The reaction was automatic and the consequences immediate. Pain flared in her hand that traveled up her arm, seizing her in a bright green magic that felt like it was searing the flesh from her bones.

Spectator Miriel’s hand burned at the memory, she grimaced and fell forward as she watched, suddenly knowing what happened.

Corypheus roared with anger as he charged Miriel. Dinas fired arrow after arrow at the Magister, dodging the magic from the Wardens as best he could. Magic surged in the room from the orb and the Wardens’ excessive use. One of the mages launched a bolt of energy that seized Dinas in a merciless grip, killing him instantaneously. Miriel screamed as she saw Dinas fall to the ground, eyes open in frozen horror. Her scream shifted as the pain in her arm intensified to blinding level. Corypheus reached for the orb, but the orb had chosen Miriel and it protected her. The Magister was flung back and the world went white.

Miriel’s hand tingled and her head ached at the intrusion of having her memories thrust upon her. Her vision was finally fading back from the memory, slowly taking in the relatively static landscape of the Fade. Nausea rolled over her in an inescapable tidal wave. Clutching her stomach, Miriel hunched over and vomited. As she heaved she vaguely noticed that someone was gently holding her hair.

“Miriel, are you all right?” Solas asked, and as she came to, she realized that it was him holding her hair, his hands softly caressing her head.

“No…no. Dinas…he was…my hunting partner, my brother in law’s brother. The Wardens…” she murmured. She felt one of Solas’s hands dip into a small pouch on her belt. _Smart man,_ she thought as he pulled out what she liked to call her emergency flask. You never knew when you needed whiskey. He unscrewed the small top and handed it to her. She nodded her thanks as she took a swig, swished the alcohol in her mouth, then spat it out. The water seemed to hiss and flinch away from the alcohol, but Miriel could not care less.

She stood straight up, closing her eyes as she breathed deeply. The remnants of the memory were now receding into the deeper parts of her mind, for which she was grateful, for as it receded, so did the nausea. But the ache of remembering her hunting partner’s death… _no._ Hunting partners were paired up young, and they were often closer to you than your own siblings. The partners were trained together, hunted together, could communicate silently, and knew everything about the other person. And hers was now gone.

“So your Mark did not come from Andraste. It came from the orb Corypheus used in the ritual.” Stroud said, but it felt distant to the numbness crawling into Miriel. _Dinas._

“Corypheus intended to rip open the Veil, use the Anchor to enter the Fade, and throw open the doors of the Black City. Not for the old Gods, but for himself. When you disrupted his plan, the orb bestowed the Anchor upon you instead.” Justinia said. Miriel wondered when she had appeared.

“I never thought Andraste did this. I never claimed to be holy. This Anchor…it is a result of circumstance and my actions, not divine intervention.” Miriel responded. She felt Cassandra frown but the woman for once did not press the issue.

“And now you may be certain,” The Divine replied and Miriel was grateful that she wasn’t spouting something about it might as well be given by Andraste because the Maker has a plan for us all and blah blah blah. No, she wasn’t holy, but she was capable and she would stop Corypheus. _Dinas, oh lethallin, ir abelas._

“You cannot escape the lair of the Nightmare until you regain all that it took from you. You have recovered some of yourself, but now it knows you are here. You must make haste. I will prepare the way ahead.” With that Justinia disappeared. It was odd interacting with her spirit like this. It was one thing to interact with a spirit who was never corporeal, but Justinia…she was a woman, and she was a spirit. It was weird.

“Something troubles you, Hawke?” Stroud asked. Miriel turned to see Katra scowling dramatically and Stroud looking at her with concern. Katra turned to Stroud, her blue eyes ablaze with emotion.

“Those were Grey Wardens holding the Divine in that vision. Their actions led to her death.” She said. Stroud frowned as he realized where she was going with this.

“I assumed he had taken their minds, as you have seen him do before. Come, we can argue after we escape this dark place.” Stroud said, not wanting to sow discord between the people in the group while they were all so dependent on each other.

“Oh, I intend to.” Katra said ominously, grabbing her staff and walking forward. Miriel’s brow furrowed in concern, but she didn’t press her luck, this place…it was not the place for confrontation or high emotion.

**

_How could the Wardens do this? How could they…_ Here Katra was, cleaning up another mess because of someone’s bid for power. Here she was, near death in a place meant for only spirits and demons because some darkspawn shit creature crawled out of the murk and decided to try and rewrite the world. _He is here because of you,_ dammit, she knew…she knew it was her fault that Corypheus was out there, killing and hurting people. She had followed the Carta back to that prison…she thought she had killed him… _her fault._

Katra had believed Corypheus dead and dealt with. He would harm no one ever again, he had lain there…dead as dead can be. What had she missed? Her arrogance of defeating the Qunari invasion had doomed the world. _The hubris of man…_ her arrogance had doomed Kirkwall first. How could she have ever thought that her actions actually mattered? She was just one woman. She was a powerful mage, true, but that was all she was. She had won against the Arishok because he was _honorable_ enough to recognize that she had done nothing wrong and was simply defending her city. It was by pure dumb luck that she was won that duel. Katra Hawke was not actually a champion, but a fraud who was corrupted by arrogance that brought doom upon the world once more…

“HAWKE!” It was Miriel’s voice. It seemed impossibly far away and muted…wait, where was Katra? It was as if she was fighting to gain consciousness, her vision was blurry and what she did manage to make out was not the area she remembered last seeing. She was alone for some reason, the other members of the group nowhere in sight. _What…what happened?_ She couldn’t pinpoint what was going on, her thoughts were fragmented, chaotic.

_My fault, all my fault, got separated from the group because I was too enveloped with myself…_ no, she didn’t believe that, so why was she thinking it? _Demons, Katra, are tricky creatures, and you are within their realm,_ right, she was vulnerable, an apostate physically in the Fade with fears and regrets…but she also had will.

With a great breath Katra pushed forward, letting her magic build up within her. It pushed the invasive thoughts back with each vibration in her body, her vision suddenly clearing. She was in a small area surrounded by dark rocks, her feet sunk into ankle deep viscous water. Whispers abounded around her, eyes blinked, and feet scurried. Katra’s breathing and beating heart where the loudest in her ears, as she scanned the area, feeling out with her magic. _Where are you, demon,_ she wondered as she sensed for Despair. These demons were cowards, content to lurk in the shadows, all the while driving their victims to suicide. They did not like to be found.

Katra was in its master’s house, but that didn’t leave her without magic or will. With a cry, Katra slammed the end of her staff into the ground. Bright light exploded from the head, blinding all nearby. Despair screamed in pain, lurching away from the light. _Gotcha,_ Katra took a breath and as she exhaled, launched a large fireball at the skittering demon. It screamed in pain as it was consumed with flames. An arrow suddenly descended from above, lodging itself in the demon’s head. The skittering and screeching stopped as the demon died.

Katra was wheezing when Miriel and the group reached her.

“Katra! Are you okay? What happened?” Miriel asked, placing a comforting hand on her arm.

“Demon. Despair…I-I,” she couldn’t speak, her breathing was so labored. She wanted to cry and break down. Despair never inserted random or incorrect thoughts into their prey, they brought up natural despair and depressive thoughts in their victims. Fighting them was exhausting because most of the battle was a battle against yourself.

Soft hands touched her face and kind blue eyes met her own.

“You did make a difference. You saved so many people fighting the Qunari and Meredith. So many more would have died if you had not done what you did. Feynriel is alive. Cricket and his brother are alive. Isabela is alive. You matter. And today you are saving so many people by fighting these demons, so that children across Thedas may never see them.” Cole said and she nodded, feeling the thoughts begin to dissipate within her. Cole did not let her go immediately, allowing his compassion to pull her out of despair.

“Thank you, Compassion,” she said quietly.

“My name is Cole,” he replied. It was not mean or even overly corrective, just a simple, humble statement. She smiled.

“Then thank you, Cole.” She said and he nodded, finally removing his hands from her face.

The ground was then suddenly shaking violently. It knocked Katra and Solas down. Miriel and Cole immediately assumed more stable stances, while Bull, Cassandra, and Stroud all endured the shake. As soon as it had begun, it was over. A loud sigh echoed through the Fade and all the hairs on Katra’s arms stood on end.

“Ooooh, thank you for that, Katra. Now I can _see_ you.” A deep, laughing voice said. There was no source for it though. Cole gasped and clutched at his head.

“No, no, no, no! Not like it! Not like it!” He screamed and Solas jumped to the young boy.

“Calm down, Cole! You are nothing like Fear, you are Compassion, _not_ Fear. Look at me, Cole!” Solas demanded but the boy was shaking his head violently, squeezing his eyes shut as he flailed.

“I would beg to differ, what do you call yourself now? Ah, yes, _Solas._ Cole is very much like me, we both take Fear…we both help.” The voice crooned.

“Cole helps others! You only serve yourself, demon!” Miriel shouted, looking for where the voice was coming from.

“Details, details, little bird. Oh, yes, I know that, I know all about you, _Inquisitor._ ” The voice laughed and Miriel looked like she was about to be sick again. Katra resolved herself and stood up.

“Come and face us, demon! Or are you afraid?” Katra tried to bate the creature out but it just laughed.

“Afraid? Me? Oh Katra, you are so very funny, haha, hmmm. I am not afraid, but you should be.” The voice laughed again, a booming sound that suddenly ended. Oppressive quiet rolled in, and Katra became acutely aware of everyone’s heavy breathing.

“Fucking demons messing with your head,” Iron Bull muttered, and Katra had to agree. _Fucking demons._


	27. Fear pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the siege of Adamant and the Fade. CW for violence, blood, gore, psychological torture/trauma, non-con/rape/sexual assault. Please, PLEASE be kind to yourself, reader. And if you decide not to read this chapter, there will be a brief cw free summary of what happened at the beginning of next chapter.

Cole calmed down after the Fear demon stopped talking to them. Miriel took his hand and tried to comfort him, but the boy was not going to be settled until they had left this horrid place. She didn’t blame him, she wouldn’t be okay until she was out of here as well.

“Fear is a very old, very strong feeling. It predates love, pride, compassion…every emotion save perhaps desire. Be wary, the Nightmare will do anything in its power to weaken our resolve.” Solas explained as they begin to set off towards the rift once more.

“Including sacrificing other demons to wear us down,” Miriel heard Katra mutter.

“After what it did to my fellow Wardens, I pray we find some way to strike it down.” Stroud replied, sounding worn and worried. Was the Nightmare already whispering in his ear? Sowing fear and worry into this stoic warrior’s heart?

“We will beat this thing, Stroud, we have to.” Miriel said, meeting his dark eyes with her bright ones. The man nodded, almost shaking his head free, in agreement.

“Of course. We will defeat this demon,” he said sounding a bit better. They trudged forward, wading through more water when demons slowly began to crawl out from between the rocks, growing before their eyes.

“Shit,” Katra said as she began to lob fire and force at Shades. Solas reached out and electricity coursed through a rage demon, but the magic did not slow the creature. Miriel lobbed arrow after arrow into its fiery hide, but it just seemed to laugh as it advanced. With a great shout, Bull launched himself at Rage, screaming as he hacked at the thing with brutish fury. In the clan, you talked about your fears with your hunting partner or with the Keeper. Bull dealt with fear by beating the shit out of demons. Rage sputtered out with a last flicker of flame but Bull wasn’t done pulverizing the thing.

“Fucking…demons…in…your…fucking…head…with…their…fucking…fear….RAH!” With a last swing, Bull stopped, breathing hard. There was no point in asking if Bull was all right, he wasn’t, and it wasn’t going to change until they had left this place.

Moans from victims began to fill in the eerie silence, distant screams and cries filtered in. They begged for mercy, for help, they were cries in the dark where Fear preyed upon them. Children cried loudly, asking for their moms, their dads…anyone who could help them. The sounds plagued Miriel, children should never suffer, and she was so used to being able to help those she hear crying out for help. Here she could not help them. They were all memories, plucked from people to feed the Nightmare. _Food._ That was all these people were to the demon.

The group climbed a dark staircase flanked by two deformed gold raven statues. Katra hissed in a breath at the sight of them. She clutched her staff more tightly as she eyed them with extreme trepidation. Miriel wanted to remind her that any fear she felt would only make this entire ordeal worse, but it was pointless. How could you tell someone not to fear something that was designed for the sole purpose of instilling fear?

At the top of the staircase small snakes slithered about, but they moved out of the way of the group. They strode forward until dark masses began to skitter up from beneath the cracks in the stone. The masses hissed and bubbled until they solidified into familiar forms.

“What _are_ those?!” Cassandra cried as the masses, now undead spiders, began to throw themselves at the group. They hissed, chomping their maws at them. With a sick pit in her stomach, Miriel fired arrows at them, killing one after the other. Stroud and Cassandra struck true down at them, while Bull kicked them, stomped. Cole stood back, staring with obvious fright on his face. Katra flung several back with a sweep of her staff, then burned them until they were nothing more than smoking marks on the ground.

“Those were little fears, tiny manifestations spawned from the Nightmare itself.” Solas explained, his breathing not labored and his voice even. _The bastard may even be enjoying this._

“And they take the form of spiders, something so many fear.” Katra said, surprisingly calm.

“Spiders? I saw maggots, writhing in filth.” Cassandra countered.

“Remember, we walk in the Fade. Demons of fear shape their appearance to unnerve each of us.” Solas said. Miriel shivered, she hated spiders…and undead spiders were just freaky.

The way ahead was dark, no light even seeping into the alley. Miriel took a breath and readied herself as they set forth. They entered the alleyway, consumed by a thick blanket of darkness. Miriel took one step after the other without knowing where she was going, what she was stepping on…what had just caressed her face with a claw. Despite knowing that all she was doing was feeding the demon, she felt fear coil in her belly, quicken her heart, and cause doubt to seep into her mind. A hand found hers in the dark and she jumped out of reflex.

“Steady yourself, vhenan, we will get through this.” Solas whispered and she nodded, trying to steel herself to continue forward. Her hand itched constantly, but with this darkness, she could not ignore the constant itch. She scratched at her palm, bright green light flickering from her hand. Miriel cocked her head to the side as she contemplated. She tentatively reached her hand out, thinking _light._ With an odd internal flickering feeling, light burst forth from her hand, lighting the way.

“Brilliant, Miri,” Katra praised. Solas released her other hand as she stepped forward, lighting the darkness and scaring away the creatures that continued to lurk in the tunnel. They sallied forth, seeing the glowing light ahead that marked the Divine’s reappearance.

**

Miriel vomited once more coming out of her returned memories. Divine Justinia had sacrificed herself for Miriel, so that the elf could live and wreak retribution upon those that had done this to them. Then the Nightmare had stolen the memories of what had happened to Miriel as she slept. They all turned to the spirit impersonating Justinia. Cassandra was about to lay into the spirit when Miriel stepped forward.

“It was you,” she said softly and the Divine dipped her head in understanding.

“They thought it was Andraste sending me from the Fade, but it was the Divine standing behind me. And then you…she died.”

“Yes.” The spirit replied simply, sorrow etched in her face.

“So this creature is simply a spirit,” Stroud said. _She is simply a spirit as much as I am simply an elf,_ Miriel thought, feeling a connection to this spirit who identified so strongly with Justinia. _The Divine saved me, and this spirit is trying to do the same._

“I think we all knew that was the case, Warden,” Katra said.

“I am sorry if I disappoint you,” Justinia murmured and Miriel felt compelled to comfort the spirit. Katra’s face softened though, and she smiled small at the woman. With that the spirit abandoned its façade of the Divine, great light burning away the face they were all familiar with. Faith turned into a bright light and floated up.

“Are you Justinia’s soul?” Miriel asked the now bright nebulous form.

“If that is the story you wish to tell, it is not a bad one.” The spirit replied and Miriel supposed they could never really know.

“What we do know is that the mortal Divine perished at the Temple, thanks to the Grey Wardens.” Katra accused causing Stroud to bristle beside her.

“As I said, the Grey Wardens responsible for that crime were under the control of Corypheus. We can discuss this further once we return to Adamant.” Stroud practically growled, anger lacing his words.

“Yes, Adamant, where the Inquisition faces an army of demons raised by the Wardens.” Katra shot back.

“How dare you judge us?” Stroud sneered, no longer content to try and have a temporary truce with Katra about the Wardens. He was insulted and angry and he wasn’t going to take it anymore.

“You tore Kirkwall apart and started the mage rebellion!” Miriel winced, Stroud was hitting a soft spot for Hawke and he knew it. Katra’s eyes narrowed as she stepped forward.

“To protect innocent mages, not madmen drunk on blood magic! Even without Corypheus, the Wardens go too far. They need to be checked.”

“Agreed. The Wardens may once have served a greater good, but they are far too dangerous now." Of all the times to chime in, Solas decided that now was a good idea? Miriel had had enough, this was ridiculous.

“By the Creators, would you all just shut up?! This is what it wants, the Nightmare! To break us up, to use our anger, our fears to tear us apart so that we may never escape and fell its master! The enemy is not the Wardens, it is Corypheus, remember that.” Miriel shouted at them. Shocked faces turned to her, all clouded with hate and rage. Her brows furrowed in confusion, but then she saw behind them the smirking grin of a barely flickering rage demon. _Oh you fuckwit demon._ With quick movements, Miriel equipped her bow and fired a few quick well placed shots at the demon. It died with a gurgle and the haze cleared from Katra and Stroud’s faces.

“Rage demon, thank me after we escape, now let’s _move_ ,” she was done hanging back allowing others to lead this expedition as they got sucked in by demons. Everyone’s eyes suddenly widened.

“Inquisitor,” Stroud murmured and Miriel turned around to where everyone was looking at. _Oh great, more undead spiders._

“The Nightmare has found us,” the spirit said as she floated above them.

**

There was a loud rumbling noise as the entire area shook. A great sigh echoed through the cavernous wasteland, turning into a maniacal giggle.

“Oh look you have you memories, little bird! Well done, I was really rooting for you. Did you like watching Dinas die again? It was my favorite moment, seeing the horror in your eyes as your best friend for life just died…and because of you no less!” The demon giggled, all too delighted with itself as it reveled in Miriel’s discomfort. Katra stepped back, an uneasy feeling taking over. She took a step back, eyes examining every nook and cranny in the area.

“Katra, dear, dear, _Katra Hawke._ Where do you think you’re going? Would you really abandon your friends and allies like this? Wait, you would! Just like you left Fenris, all alone because you couldn’t stand by and watch the world _burn_.” The Nightmare laughed and laughed at her as its words echoed inside of her head, bouncing back and forth. She stumbled back, heart pounding in her chest as the world shifted and changed before her.

She stood in the Gallows at Kirkwall, fires dancing all around her, Templar bodies were strewn across the blood drenched cobblestones. Laughter echoed off the golden statues of slaves. A figure began to limp towards her, a shadow quickly taking form, solidifying into the Knight Commander Meredith. Her eyes were red with corruption, her sword like a beating vein, blood seeped from the crevices in her armor, but she sloughed forward.

“How noble,” the woman said, her voice layered with the Nightmare’s, “except…the world is burning because of you isn’t it? You helped Anders with his explosive. You might as well as have planted the bomb yourself.” The Knight Commander charged at Katra who readied her staff. The woman was a hair away from slamming into Katra when she and the world suddenly shifted. Before her stood Anders, a pained yet charismatic expression on his face as he leaned into her. Behind him the Chantry burned, flaming impossibly high, sparkling with magical cause.

“But you wanted the world to change, you wanted mages to be free. You _wanted_ the world to burn. You wanted the Templars to burn for hurting you and your sister.” Anders said and she flinched away, closing her eyes. _I am in the Fade, this isn’t real, this isn’t real._

“Katra? Katra, my darling? Where are you?” Katra’s eyes reflexively snapped open at the sound of her mother’s voice. The scene before her had changed again, this time in the unforgettable straw lined basement of the man who murdered her mother. She ran down the corridor, unable to help feeling like she had to save her mother. She was never in time, but she never stopped hoping. But this nightmare was different. Blood seeped from the walls, the portrait of Quintin’s wife was crying blood, red lyrium glowed on the ground.

“Katra, help me!” Her mother cried out, and Katra hurried even more quickly. She ran into the main area where a white shape lay on the ground.

“Mother?” Katra asked as she rushed to the woman’s side. She took Leandra into her arms, buoying her head in the crook of Katra’s elbow.

“Katra, oh thank the Maker,” the woman murmured in a daze. Suddenly Leandra’s eyes opened, and instead of the steady blue they had been, they were completely black.

“You let me die, you were so busy supporting the mages you ignored the blood mage who killed me.” Leandra said, and Katra bit back a sob.

“No, mother, I-

“You let the world burn for the mages, but how many innocent people will burn for them?” Leandra shook in Katra’s arms, suddenly disintegrating into a mess of blood and gore in Katra’s arms. Katra screamed as she jerked away, crawling backward trying to get away from the blood.

The world shifted around her once again, flames licking up to the sky as she watched a small cottage in the Nevarran plains. A figure stepped forward, the smoke billowing around him. His form became more distinct as he neared her.

“Fenris?” Katra asked in a small voice. His hair was soot soaked, burns covered his body so extensively that she could barely see his lyrium lines…lyrium lines that glowed _red. No. No. NO._

“You are just like the rest of them,” Fenris said, his garments suddenly being engulfed by flames.

“You let me burn…so you could rule… _you let us burn for you…Magister Hawke._ ” He spewed, the flames suddenly consuming his body. Katra screamed as she lurched forward to catch the man she loved and extinguish the flames. Before she could reach him, a heavy hand landed on her shoulder, turning her around violently. There Meredith stood, a philter of lyrium in her hand.

“I sentence you, Katra Hawke, to become Tranquil for allowing the deaths of Leandra Amell Hawke, Bethany Hawke, Fenris, Grand Cleric Elthina, and all of the lay sisters and brothers in the Chantry of Kirkwall.” Meredith forced the sobbing Katra to her knees. The Knight Commander raised her hand, already beginning the invocation of Tranquility, and was about to apply the final brand to Katra….when a sword ran through the Knight Commander.

Meredith screamed, her frame flickered and then disappeared. The world around Hawke suddenly returned to its previous eerie Fade wasteland of water and rock. Stroud stood where Meredith had, sword in hand.

“The demon had you, are you all right?” The man breathed and Katra looked around, her face wet with tears. She glanced down at herself to find that she wasn’t soaked in blood and that all of her magic was still with her.

“No,” she replied weakly as she began to sob once more.

**

The fucking demon was _laughing_ at them as they fumbled through the Fade. _Fucking demons and their mind fucking abilities._

“Oh Bull, oh bully bully, The Iron Bull. I like you,” the demon said. Bull whipped around, raising his weapon ready to charge when the world around him went dark. A breeze carrying scents of spice and salt water blew gently through the world. A step forward and the crunch of thick, waxy leaves told him that he was once again on Seheron. That damn island with its rebels, Tal-Vashoth, natives, fog warriors, Vints…it had it all. Bull immediately tensed, gripping his axe more firmly as he scanned the darkness for any signs of danger. Shadows of shapes were all he could make out but there was a rush, a sigh, another breeze but an unnatural one, as if a mage had fade walked. He turned towards the noise, hefting his axe reflexively.

“Who’s there? Announce yourself!” He growled, but all he got in response was a skittering and the distant laughter of a woman. His heart thudded in his chest, a rising drum as he panted and sweated in the all too familiar heat.

“Ashkaariiiiiiii,” it was a low hiss in the wind but he turned towards it nonetheless. Only a few people knew him by that name – and they were all on Par Vollen. _They shouldn’t be here._ His eye shifted back and forth, still searching for any sign of movement – there! It was barely visible but it was definitely a running shadow, its form wispy but clearly present. He swung his axe, once, twice, three times into the shadow until it dissipated and fell with a groan and gasp. _Dead. I know dead. Think of what you know._

Quiet. All around him was quiet with only his own heartbeat to keep him company. No soldiers marching, no Chargers singing, none of the insects chirping – it was… _wrong._ There! Another shadow! This one appeared and disappeared rhythmically, a flickering mirage in a dark world defined only by the nearest darkest shadow. He let out a roar as he swung his axe just as the shadow flickered into presence once more. It let out a dying gasp and fell to the ground quickly.

“Hissssraaaaaad,” the whisper was back and along with it more shadows.

“COME HERE YOU BITCHES!” He roared and they obeyed, charging him with weapons that he barely felt cut his skin. A shield crashed into him but he only laughed and backhanded the shadow into a nearby tree. He kept his axe swinging, crushing shadow after shadow – body after body. A sick sort of pleasure rose in him and the world began to turn a vibrant red as it gave into the battle rage.

“HAHA! I am the Iron FUCKING BULL!” He laughed as he charged a heavily armed shadow, impaling it on his horns. He whipped his head, flinging the useless, formless thing away. He turned in a huff, ready for more only to discover he was alone once more.

Pounding heart. Heaving chest. No hisses. No breeze. Just him.

“WHAT? Is that all you HAVE?!” He taunted, growled, barely recognizing his own voice.

“Ch-chief?” It wasn’t a hiss. It wasn’t even a whisper. It was a gurgling cough, a sound that accompanied the sputtering of blood as a person died. But he knew that voice, he knew that word.

“Krem? Krem, where are you?” He demanded, turning and turning to find his lieutenant. He didn’t belong on Seheron.

“Wh-why?” It was even softer but Bull followed it, determined to find Krem. Heart racing, blood pounding in his ears. A hand around his throat, a hungry maw drooling down his back.

“Krem! I’m coming!” He shouted, retracing his steps to where he had just ran…but there wasn’t anything there. Just remnants of shadows.

“KREM!” He shouted. Drooling down his back, heat of the breath upon his neck, claws clacking as hands twitched. His own hands twitching. What? Bull raised his hands, forgetting his weapon as he gazed upon his own wretched claws. Claws? Black skin wrapped around bulging hands and fingers tipped with long, crude claws. The veins stuck out, glowing in the dark as if fire flowed in them. Black? Fire? Claws? No, this wasn’t right, this wasn’t him. What was this?

He opened his eye – when had he closed it? – and screamed as he stumbled back from the sight before him. Krem lay atop a fern, armor ripped apart, his ribcage split in two. A black seeping wound that still smoked. Glazed eyes stared fixedly at Bull, mouth contorted into a perpetual scream. He had died terrified. Bull looked at Krem’s armor, the smoke, the…rakes down the metal as if it wasn’t a blade but many that had struck him down at once. Or not blades…but claws? No, no, no, no, no, no.

He looked all around him in a frenzy. Barely able to breathe, heat from the monster, _me._ All around were the bodies of his men, his _chargers._ Dalish’s face had been slashed to ribbons, her ears sundered from her head, eyes lying in a viscous puddle of goo by her ravaged head. Rocky was strewn about the field, an arm here, a hand there, his head resting by Bull’s foot. Skinner looked as if…as if someone had bludgeoned her repeatedly into a tree, and pieces of her remained on the tree – flesh and blood staining the already dark wood while her broken body lay unnaturally in the grass. Stitches… _was_ that Stiches? Grimm’s head had been cleaved in two – no, not cleaved, but physically _torn apart._

Bile rose in Bull’s throat as he gazed upon the mutilated bodies of his Chargers. His beloved Chargers. The sound of claws clicking brought his gaze back to his hands that were now clearly not _black,_ but dark from all the blood and gore than coated them. Pieces of flesh stuck underneath his fingernails and he had the grotesque desire to…to _lick_ his fingers clean.

“AAAH!” He cried, forcing his head away from his hands…only to gaze upon the first shadow he had slain. No.

Dorian on his back, eyes staring forward in horror. Most likely a result from the hole in his chest…where his heart used to be. A large pool of blood and innards lay next to the mage, a result from the smashed heart, the slit throat, the…disembowelment.

Bull staggered back, bull only stepped on Rocky’s severed head. He turned but everywhere he looked were the bodies of those he cared for, those he loved. He had left the Qun for them. And this is what becomes of it? Slaughter? Butchering the very people he had sworn to never hurt?

He closed his eye, unable to look at them. But how dare they attack him? Wait, what? Yes, how _dare_ they not announce themselves. How dare they tempt his rage, his fury. He was the Iron fucking Bull, after all. A Tal-Vashoth, a weapon, a _tool_ that had been honed to kill. The Qun had forged him as a blade, the Ben-Hassrath was the whet-stone that made him sharp, sharpening, chipping away the parts of him that held him back. He was _made_ to hit. To kill. _Mindless._ But no, he was _not_ mindless. He was a terror, and all would regret having tossed him aside, for having tempted his wrath. HOW DARE THEY.

He stood up with a roar that shook the very heavens, opening his eye to see the sky raining fire upon all those that dared defy him, deny him the Qun. He was the Iron Bull, how dare they take the Qun from him? Say he had abandoned it while they had sent him to the ass-end of Thedas to do its dirty work. After all the work he had done, after all that he had sacrificed, _this_ is how they rewarded him? By declaring him Tal-Va-fucking-shoth? HOW DARE THEY!

Shadows or people ran at him, and he cut them down as easily one would slaughter a sheep. He laughed and reveled in the death, in the blood that coated him as he ran through the streets of Par Vollen. He lit the houses ablaze and laughed as he watched Tammassrans ran from their huts, clutching already dead children in their arms, crying out for help. There was none! The Qun was a lie and it would _pay!_

He charged towards the dormitory where all of the children were held. It would be a mercy to kill them, they would never have to know the evils, the cruelty of the Qun. _Death is the only boon I will give them._ With a great roar he went to touch the building, to set it ablaze, when a Tammassran emerged from the building. She was short, almost misshapen in her stockiness, a halo of fire about her head. She stared him down and pointed a large weapon at him.

“WOMAN! YOU DARE?!” He roared as he charged, but the woman swept the weapon in front of him and froze him into a field of ice. _Saarebas!_ Before he could even begin to crush the ice to escape, the Bas whipped around with her weapon and suddenly he felt as if he was being pummeled from all sides. His head was repeatedly battered and there was no time for him to recover from each pounding, just over and over he was hit.

“Wake up!” The woman shouted.

WHACK!

“C’MON HORNY! BEAT IT!”

WHACK! What the hell was that? The world was flickering, no flames, no red, but…green?

“We-

WHACK! The world continued to waver around him as he gasped for air.

“Don’t-

WHACK!

“Have-

WHACK!

“Time!

“For-

“THIS!” WHACK! What the fuck is going on? Bull opened his eye, fury etched into his face to find that he was back in the Fade, staring down at a small red headed woman…and that he was stuck in between spikes of ice. Hawke breathed heavily as she stared him down.

“What? I-

“Demon tricked you, locked you into your worst fears imagined.” Hawke explained and suddenly Bull felt lighter. _Not actually mad, no demon in me, my men…safe. Dorian._ Bull hung his head in shock, relief, and horror.

“Fucking _shit_.”

**

The world was dead. Dead grass, dead trees, dead people. Bodies were everywhere, maggots eating them slowly, squirming in eye sockets and wounds. Cassandra grimaced at the sight. She began walking forward, eager to get away from the maggots…and the stench.

Cassandra was a woman of purpose, of determination, and ability. She would find out who caused these murders, had allowed such things to occur. She would find them and she would mete out the justice these people deserved.

The world was grey. She didn’t care for this lackluster world. There was no color, no passion in anything. No birds sang, no small animals scampered along the ground. Even the sun seemed to be…blotted out, the light diffused by clouds and general darkness. It was dreary.

Cassandra walked along for a while until she came across a large tree. It was a tree she recognized from the descriptions from a book she had read when she was younger. It was about different justice methods from different groups of people. Dalish elves would hang humans that did them harm from large trees that were later called Hanging Trees, believed to be cursed by other humans. This was one such tree, but a human did not dangle from the tree...the Inquisitor did. Her skin was grey and lifeless, the only color on her person seemed to be her blue tinted lips and dull gold hair.

Cassandra sprang into action immediately, climbing the tree to cut the woman from the tree. She cut the rope and brought the woman’s body to her.

“Inquisitor!” She gently prodded the woman’s face, unwilling to acknowledge the woman’s death. Dammit, no! Lavellan was the world’s hope, she alone could close the Rifts and face Corypheus! Without her…without her there was no way for any of them to survive. They could fight but…there was no way. Miriel of Lavellan was their miracle, and now...now she was gone.

There was nothing Cassandra could do, there were no fights she could or would win. She had let the Seekers fall apart, the organization that had allowed the mage rebellion to tear southern Thedas apart. She had ignored abuses of the Templars because she had villainized magic just like them. Cassandra hadn’t found Hawke in time to save the Conclave…and now she would never beat Corypheus.

“Nothing you have done, nothing you ever _could_ have done, would have mattered, Seeker Cassandra.” A voice floated through the barren world. It was barely a whisper, kind, comforting.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself, you were helpless against what the Maker had set in motion so many years ago.” The whisper continued. It was soft, but the words…they hurt. _I could do nothing._

_That’s right, nothing you did mattered._

_Nothing…nothing._

“Alright, that’s enough Seeker, we’re getting you out.” Another voice! This one wasn’t a whisper, it was…not clear, but it was loud.

“Cassandra! C’mon, beat it!” This voice was also different, and it sounded…feminine? The world around her seemed to…waiver?

_No…this is the world now. Corypheus’s takeover is inevitable._ But…how did the world get like this? Cassandra had no recollection of the world burning and dying…and there was evidence of that everywhere. And how did the Inquisitor die? She was not an incapable woman in the slightest.

“Cassandra, we can still fight Corypheus! The world is not doomed! The demon is trying to get you stuck in fear, but it won’t work! Don’t let it work! FIGHT!” Cassandra closed her eyes and tried to exert reality over herself.

The Inquisitor wasn’t dead. They were in the Fade. The world wasn’t dead and there was hope. There was always hope.

When Cassandra opened her eyes, the Iron Bull and Hawke stood before her. Hawke smiled and Bull let out a relieved breath.

“Welcome back, Seeker.”

**

“I could take the fear away, Fen’Harel.” Fear spoke calmly to Solas. It had taken Mythal’s old form, a curvaceous woman with golden brown skin and long black hair that was styled up into large draconic horns. Its eyes glowed bright yellow and had even donned Mythal’s preferred white dress.

They stood on what appeared to be a giant chess board. White light illuminated the place, making the black tiles appear grey. Large chess pieces dotted over the board, Fear had grabbed the black Queen piece and was leaning away at an odd angle.

“And what fear would that be?” Solas asked. This demon was odd, it was both old and powerful…but it possessed juvenile and even child-like qualities. The laughter, the eager-to-please demeanor, the toying with its prey. It was all too clear that demon had been a young spirit when its purpose had been corrupted. It was maniacal and evil, but it was also juvenile, permanently stunted and fixed into a mold of corruption.

“ _Her._ She changes too much, makes you scared because it makes you hope. But that fear isn’t good, Dread Wolf. That fear is _bad_ , how will you fix everything when you’re afraid? Let me help you, I can help you.” Vestiges of Compassion still lingered with Fear. It still had an undeniable urge to help people, but along with its purpose being corrupted, so was its perception of how to help.

“And why do you think taking the fear away will help?” Solas asked as he passed the black rook.

“Because people who are afraid do bad things, they become bad people. Look at the Grey Wardens, a little bit of fear and poof! They become bad…you shouldn’t be bad. You can save them…but she makes you fear…can you save them when you fear so much?”

“Why do you serve Corypheus, Compassion?” Solas asked and the demon hissed, its visage of Mythal shifting to that of Elgar’nan. It darted forward with dark purpose.

“THAT IS NOT MY NAME!” It shouted, the world shaking.

“Not anymore, no. But it was, once.”

“Yes…but I’m better now. I help more people now.” Elgar’nan’s face twisted in itself, distorting into a darkened mask with fangs dripping blood and ichor. Fear loomed over Solas, invading his space, but Solas stood still, face neutral of all expression.

“You serve yourself.”

“ _Yes_. I matter too. When I was lesser, I didn’t know that. I worked and I tried to help, but I was so weak. I needed more power to help, so I started taking the energy for myself every now and then…and now, I am so powerful I can help _anyone I want._ ” Fear twirled away, somehow placated as it reveled in telling Solas how it had become the powerful demon it now was.

“But not anyone, you have to ask me for permission,” Solas reminded it. Fear brushed the idea off, shifting easily into the white haired form of Ghilan’nain.

“But you’re not _normal_. Everyone has to ask your permission, you’re Fen’Harel.” Fear then turned to him, smiling cruelly.

“You are _Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf._ And you’re the last of your kind…all alone in the world. You love _her_ but she can never know, and she will never understand you, not truly. Poor, lonely wolf.” Solas didn’t show any emotion and worked to keep himself calm. He kept his mental barriers up, denying Fear access to anymore fear.

“I am alone, yes.” Solas responded, and Fear giggled.

“You’re always going to be alone. All by yourself. The only one. The lone wolf! Oh that has a nice ring to it. Maybe you should change your name to the Lonely Wolf. The Last Wolf! Or the Hopeless Wolf-

“No, I am never without hope.” Solas found himself saying. He shocked himself at the truth of his words. He wasn’t without hope, not anymore. She had given him hope that maybe he wouldn’t be alone forever. It was true that she would never quite understand, but she gave him hope that he could find others that would, and that was a blessing in and of itself.

“No! You don’t get to fix yourself! _I’m_ supposed to fix you! No!” Fear was incensed, its form flickering inconsistently as it assumed many faces and forms. One moment it was Mythal, the next a small serving boy.

“Fine, if she is so important to you, if _she_ fixed you, then I guess I will just have to break _her_ so I can break you and then fix you. Yes! That’s what I will do! She dies, Wolf! She dies because of _you!_ ” Fear then ran off the chessboard and the world began to flicker and die around them.

“NO!” Solas cried as he took after the demon, unable to stop the immediate flow of panic at the thought of her becoming the sudden interest of Fear.

“I stashed her when I took you all. She has so much fear, it is so…invigorating! And Corypheus wants her, oh yes he does. And he gives me so much fear, he gives me the Wardens and the Templars and even those little Venatori idiots. Oh it is a veritable all you can eat buffet of fear! So I should give Corypheus a little present…after I am done with her of course!” Fear laughed, its voice bouncing around the Fade in fractured, deafening noise.

“Fear! You don’t want to do this!” He called but he knew that it was futile. Fear had made this decision, had planned this since they had fallen into the Fade. Solas ran, not even noticing the rocks ripping through the wrapping on his feet, cutting his feet.

Fear laughed again, snorting crudely. All noise suddenly was cut off as the world changed before Solas. He was standing in a large grassy field, the sun beating high above. He looked all around, searching for any clues. _For what? Fear?_ There! Aravel and hoof marks were clear in the grass and dirt, leading down a large hill. Solas followed the marks to a large valley where at least thirty aravels were set up. It was a huge clan of Dalish that had set up temporary camp in what appeared to be a peaceful and near perfect valley. The sun was setting, casting a heavenly glow over the encampment.

Solas headed down the hill towards the aravels, the need to protect Miriel overpowering.

_Fear lurks in the strangest of places, Dread Wolf. But you already knew that, didn’t you?_ Fear’s voice echoed inside Solas’s head. Solas had his mental barrier up but this was Fear’s realm, and its ability to manipulate and control was so potent that even Solas was at its mercy.

The aravels were set up in a circular spiral pattern. They had been stopped and let out meaning that the roofs had been raised and side panels had been let out for more room. Dalish elves relaxed and appeared to be socializing quite happily, blissfully not caring about Solas’s presence there.

Or they didn’t know he was there. Dread filled Solas as he realized that this was no simple construction from Miriel’s fear – this was…this was one of her _memories._ Fear had taken more memories from Miriel than just from what had occurred at Haven. _No._ She would be reunited with her most terrifying memory then, experiencing it all over again as if it was new.

Solas hurried to find her, scanning faces for her. He had no idea if this was before or after receiving her Vallaslin, had no idea how different she could look-

“Maren! What are you doing? You silly little thing!” That was Miriel’s voice! It was younger and more accented, but it was definitely her voice. Solas took off in the direction he heard her voice…and there she was. _So young._ She could be no older than sixteen, her face free of Vallaslin. Her hair was long, unshaven and pulled into a high pony tail. It must have been summer because she wore thin leggings and only her breast band, no tunic. _The Dalish don’t really care about nudity, everybody has seen you naked at some point, so it’s not that big of a deal._

She was coming down the stairs of an aravel, chasing a toddling child with reddish brown curls. The child screamed in delight when Miriel, already strong with hunting training, bent down and scooped her up. Miriel laughed as she spun about with the babe.

Rhythmic pounding sounds began to filter in from the distance and all the keen hearing elves turned at the sound, concern clear on their faces. Elven hunters burst from the nearby forest.

“SHEMS!” They cried and that was all that needed be said. Elves began to arm themselves with weapons that had been strategically set up around the camp. A woman with brown hair and a shocking resemblance to Miriel ran up to the girl, panicked.

“Get Maren to safety!” The woman shouted as she picked up a large dagger and ran off with a group other elves to defend the clan. Miriel, still holding Maren, ran in the other direction. Solas followed her, hoping that he could defend her from what was about to happen. _It’s a memory, you can’t change it._ Fenedhis, he knew that, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

Miriel ran fast, even with the child fumbling awkwardly in her arms. She ran into the forest and kept up the pace, deftly avoiding trees and branches. Miriel suddenly stopped and changed direction, Solas looked to where she had just been watching, seeing two men on horses riding towards the camp. Miriel ducked under a low branch and kept quiet as she tiptoed through the forest.

“Miri, where are we going?” Maren asked and Solas felt his heart fall. The men on the horses turned their heads toward the sound, and therefore Miriel.

“Shhh,” Miriel urged.

“Hey, I think there’s little ones over there.” One of the men said, a tall, young man with scraggly unkempt blond hair. The man next to him looked at him like he was crazy.

“Sounds too little, I like my women as women. I’m not as sick as you,” the other man said and Solas wanted to growl at him that was indeed sick if he thought raping elf girls wasn’t sick.

“More for me,” the scraggly man said as he urged his horse towards Miriel. Solas tried to cast a spell, electrocute the man, hit him with a stone fist, _something_ , but nothing happened. He tried to knock the man off with stone, but nothing happened. _I can do nothing._ Solas tried to dispel the memory, but still the memory remained in play. Miriel looked around her, spying a large tree. She urged the child to hold onto her body as she began to scale the tree. She climbed the tree quickly, depositing Maren high up among the foliage.

“Stay here,” Miriel whispered to the child, quickly kissing her on the temple.

“Miri-

“Shh, sweetheart,” Miriel cooed and then climbed down the tree.

“Stay in the tree, vhenan!” Solas cried but she couldn’t hear him as she snuck away from the tree. She then began making purposeful sound to draw the man to her…and away from Maren. The man spurred his horse to quicken when he caught sight of Miriel.

“Oh now you’re bigger than I thought!” He said and she broke out into a run, launching herself up into a tree…but the man had caught up to her. She tried to scramble up the tree, but the man reached up and pulled her down by her hair.

“AH!” She cried as she tumbled down from the tree. Miriel fell onto the ground with a solid ommf, but she jumped back up and tried to run.

“Oh come one, I just want to have some fun!” The man said as he doubled back around. He bent down and raised her up by her hair.

“FUCK YOU!” She cried, reaching down and unsheathing a knife in her leg wrappings. _That’s my girl._ Solas thought, as she slashed up, cutting the man’s forearm deeply.

“YOU BITCH!” He cried but he had released her. She took off, running as fast as she could to get away. The man chased her in hot pursuit, and despite Miriel knowing the woods and her quick footing, the horse was faster and the man caught her once again. Miriel slashed out again with the knife, cutting the strap holding the saddle together. The man fell off his horse with an oomf and Miriel took off again, running back to where the aravels were.

Solas followed her back and what greeted them was horror. Fires engulfed countless aravels as men and women ran screaming. The halla were scattered, many were gutted and laid dead on the ground. Miriel ran to the aravel she had previously been at, the scraggly man chasing her all the way.

“GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE WHORE!” He screamed, charging her. She shut the aravel’s door and Solas found himself able to fade into the home. The scraggly man burst into the room, lunging at Miriel. She dodged him and tried to run out the door. The aravels were small spaces, meant to be easy traveling vehicles, which meant there was little to no room for Miriel to maneuver. With the scraggly man at least twice her size in weight and foot of height on her, he was able to easily corral her. She tried to lunge under him but he caught her and tossed her onto the floor. Miriel rolled away and grabbed a nearby pot, throwing it at the man.

“FUCK!” The pot hit him hard and he flinched backward. Miriel made to scramble away, the man grabbed hold of her ankle, pulling her towards him. Miriel never stopped fighting. She kicked at him, slapped, clawed, bit at the man as he forced her down.

“Little bitch!” The man slapped her face, then took a hard hold of her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

“I’m going to make you pay for this, knife-eared bitch!” He flashed his wound at her. He then punched her, a ring on his finger slashing down her face. _That scar…no…no!_ Solas bull rushed the man, trying to kick the man off, but nothing stuck and his form flew through the man’s. Solas pushed himself, willing the dream away, trying to focus on the present Miriel. The memory wavered briefly before he was flung back into a wall of the aravel as the memory solidified itself again.

“THIS ISN’T REAL, MIRIEL!” He shouted but she couldn’t hear him! No!

_Look at the helpless wolf, can’t even save the woman he loves._

Miriel struggled, arching her back and thrashing under the man as he tore her breast band and leggings off. The man punched her again, leaving her reeling and spitting out blood as he undid his breeches. He shoved the breeches down and Miriel resumed her struggles in tenfold.

“GET OFF OF ME!” She screamed over and over again, flailing wildly, not allowing the man to get a proper purchase on her.

“FEAR, STOP THIS!”

_Stop a memory? Now how can I do that? I am not a_ god. Fear tormented him and Solas found himself on his knees.

“I beg you, spirit, stop this!” The man suddenly grabbed a knife and pressed it to Miriel’s throat.

“You stop struggling, or I will cut your little bitch throat. Y’understand?” The man growled. Miriel remained still, the tip of the blade drawing blood anyways as the man began to shove his breeches down his legs. Miriel closed her eyes and appeared to steel herself.

“You scream, and I cut.” He roughly grabbed her breast, leaning down to bite a nipple. She flinched reflexively.

“I said _don’t move._ ” The man growled as he quickly dropped the knife down to nick her breast. He brought the knife back up and Solas saw a tear roll down her face.

“Please, don’t do this,” she whispered and the man smiled cruelly.

“I’m doing you a favor, knife-ear, I am much nicer than some of my friends who would love to get ahold of a busty little blonde like you.” He said as he touched her. He moved his hand down her body, roughly cupping her sex. She flinched again, earning her a slap.

“ _SPIRIT. Stop this!”_ Solas demanded. He was tied to the memory now, rooted in this room, watching the woman he loved be raped by a man he could not fight. Solas burned to kill this man, to rip his throat from his body. Or better yet, torture the man for what he had done to Miriel…what he had most likely done to other women, _young women…girls._

**

It was more than fear. More than violation. Miriel was being terrorized, brutalized by this…this…cretin. He shoved his fingers into her and she wanted to scream from the assault, but she couldn’t because of the knife. Tears rolled down her cheek as her heart hammered in her chest and defeat seized her body. _Weak._ She thought, knowing she should have kept fighting. But what could she do? The man could very easily kill her. He…touched her, and she had to fight the urge to vomit as she felt her body respond. _No, no, no! Wrong, so wrong. I don’t want this!_

“Well looky here, a virgin, eh?” The man had removed his hand and brought it up to his face to gaze at his bloody fingers.

“Please,” she sobbed.

“Begging for my cock already. Alright, little girl, have it your way.” She sobbed even more as he fisted his…sex to position at her violated entrance. _No, this is wrong, wrong…NO!_

It was like waking up from a Nightmare, realizing that this memory, this horrible, terrifying event had been stolen and bastardized. Miriel felt her body change, quickly transforming into the current woman she was.

“This isn’t how it happened,” she murmured right before she launched herself into action. She grabbed the wrist that was holding the knife, quickly snapping it and taking the knife. She jumped up, now fully clad in her armor and threw the knife into the man’s head. He screamed and the world around her seemed to crumble away, becoming once more the eerily green lit, rocky Fade.

“ _You bitch!_ ” The man, now flickering in form, screeched. He reached up and pulled the knife out, his form quickly changing into that of the true shape of Fear. Solas was suddenly there, his eyes glowing bright with an eerie blue light as he lobbed lightning and rocks at Fear.

“You have erred for ill, spirit,” he said, his voice eerily calm as his magic seemed to surge around them all. Fear screeched in pain, trying to skitter away, but Solas simply continued his onslaught. Solas began speaking in an ancient tongue, his words so harsh they appeared to do the demon physical harm. Miriel grabbed her bow and joined in the fray, firing arrows at the creature. Just as they were about to kill the thing, it flickered and disappeared.

Solas looked around him, stunned that it had gotten away.

“You think you can kill me that _easily_? I am _the_ power here! You are my pawns! Toys! Dolls! _Mine!”_ Fear screamed, the anger bouncing everywhere. It was so loud, Miriel dropped to her knees and clasped her hands over her ears.

Solas swore even more in his ancient tongue, screaming back at the creature. Miriel rose and walked over to Solas, wanting to silence him when Cole, sweet, kind, unassuming Cole suddenly appeared on a cliff close to them.

“I am not like you, but I can help you,” the boy proclaimed and then drove two daggers into the air before him. Fear suddenly appeared, the ends of the daggers protruding from the demon’s body. It bowed back as a green light began to envelope it. The world shook as the creature screeched and fell, its demonic demeanor shedding off of a dull light. Cole stroked the light once, twice.

“Cole!” Miriel cried as she watched the boy kill the demon…then ease what appeared to be a young spirit to death. Fear disintegrated, nothing hitting the ground as it died. Cole then disappeared only to reappear in front of Miriel and Solas.

“We have to go!” Cole said and began to run, leading them through the final stretch to the Rift. Katra, Cassandra, Bull, and Stroud ran up beside them from off of a corridor.

“The place is coming apart!” Katra yelled and Miriel looked around to see that the floating boulders were beginning to crash down. The area shook, the water somehow draining into nothingness. Miriel slipped and slid, but kept her pace quick before they arrived at the pinnacle where the great Nightmare stood.

A hundred eyes atop a gaping maw stood between the group and path to the Rift. Just as they all had readied their weapons, Justinia, or rather, Faith, launched her luminous form into the demon. The creature screeched as it toppled over. Justinia’s voice echoed through the chamber,

“Go! Get through the Rift! Tell Leliana, I’m sorry I failed her too!” She yelled. The group didn’t need to be told twice. They beat feet to the Rift, running, pushing themselves to reach the Rift before the entire world crumbled around them. They were just about to make the final push to the Rift when the Nightmare returned. It rose up from the depths of the Fade, screeching as it advanced toward the group.

“We need to clear a path!” Stroud called.

“Go! I’ll cover you!” Katra said. Miriel jerked her head around, bewildered

“No. You were right. The Grey Wardens caused this. A Warden must-

“A Warden must help them rebuild! That’s _your_ job!” Katra countered.

“You can’t be serious!” Miriel shouted. She couldn’t leave Katra behind! Not here, not like this!

Katra smiled, grime and sweat staining her beautiful face, “I am afraid that it’s not your choice.” She spun her staff around, throwing Miriel and Stroud and the rest toward the Rift while the rock split into two. Katra directed her rock to the Nightmare. Miriel screamed, wanting to chase after her, if she jumped now – Solas took her hand and wrenched her towards the exit.

“KATRA!” She cried as Solas passed her off to Bull who threw her over his shoulder. Miriel

“Tell Fenris…tell him that I’m sorry, that I did this for him, and that I love him…always.” Katra said, and before anyone could say anything, the mage barreled towards the Nightmare, flinging fire at the thing.

“Spiders. Always the Maker-damned spiders…” Her assault created the pathway the rest of the group needed. They ran past the Nightmare that Hawke was somehow single handedly fighting. Her magic billowed against the monster. Just as they were about to go through the Rift, Miriel reached her hand out to Hawke with one thought. _Open._

**

Miriel was the last one to tumble out of the Fade and into the Adamant courtyard. She felt dizzy and thought she was about to be sick once more, but steadied herself at the last second. She stared at the Rift for a moment, hoping that maybe if she kept it open a moment longer-

Solas grabbed her hand and shoved it at the Rift, directing the power within it to close the tear. Miriel let out a heartbroken sob and looked up at him. His eyes were haunted, the lines on his face deep and she knew that he was reeling from the horror they had just emerged from. The remaining demons in the courtyard died dramatically as their connection to the Fade was severed.

Inquisition soldiers cheered for her while her group tried to regain themselves. Miriel couldn’t revel in the applause or approval, she felt sick. _Katra…_ the Champion of Kirkwall had become a dear friend to Miriel and she had just…left her to die in the Fade.

“With the Nightmare banished, Corypheus lost both the Wardens and his demon army.” Stroud said, limping forward. Miriel’s brow furrowed in unspoken concern, but the man waved her off in a silent gesture of _I’ll be fine._

“But in the stories your soldiers will tell, their Inquisitor broke the spell with the Maker’s blessing.” He continued, smiling at her. Miriel looked around at the dirty tired soldiers, her terror stricken friends.

“They came out of this alive. As far as I am concerned, they can tell whatever stories they like.” Miriel replied softly. They stared up at her with awe, but all she felt was sick, dirty… _rough hands fondling her, pushing her, the burning pain of –_ no, she had to deal with this later.

“And I suspect this will not be the last story they tell about you.” Stroud said.

“Inquisitor. The Archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared.” An Inquisition scout reported. Miriel nodded her thanks. She was actually glad the dragon had flown the coup, she didn’t think she had the energy in her to fight an Archdemon at the moment. _You couldn’t fight him off, how can you even hope to fight Corypheus? Stop._

“The Venatori Magister is unconscious but alive. Cullen thought you might want to deal with him yourself. As for the Wardens, those who weren’t corrupted helped us fight the demons.” The scout continued, a helmeted Warden joining him.

“We stand ready to help make up for Clarel’s…tragic mistake.” The Warden said, his voice full of remorse and guilt. Miriel believed him.

“We’ve seen no sign of Hawke since the bridge collapsed, Inquisitor.” The scout said and a pang went off in Miriel’s chest. _That’s because we left her._ Stroud looked down at the ground, guilt plain as day on his face.

“We assumed she was with you.”

“Hawke sacrificed her life to save us and strike a decisive blow against Corypheus. She gave her life not because she’d sworn an oath or been marked as special, but because someone had to do it.” Miriel said. There was a pregnant pause as everyone took a moment to mourn the Champion of Kirkwall.

“Stroud, you’re the senior surviving Grey Warden. What do we do now?” The helmeted Warden from before asked. Stroud looked to Miriel, acknowledging that she was the person in charge of the fate of the Orlesian Wardens. With a deep breath, Miriel made her decision.

“You stay and do whatever you can to help. Stroud believes that the Wardens are worth saving…and I trust him. You’re still vulnerable to Corypheus, and possibly his Venatori, but there are plenty of demons that need killing.” She said, _Katra didn’t give herself up for the Wardens for me to just give up on them now._ She heard Solas sigh in disapproval behind her, but she didn’t give shit at the moment.

“While they do that, I’ll report to the Wardens at Weisshaupt. We won’t be caught off guard by Corypheus again.” Stroud declared. The helmeted Warden turned and looked at Miriel. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she recognized the thankful stance of his body.

“Thank you, your Worship. We will not fail you.” Wardens and Inquisition soldiers began to exit the courtyard, recognizing when the Inquisitor was starting to flag and needing to be left the fuck alone. Stroud didn’t leave, however.

“Maker watch over your Inquisition. It has been an honor.” Stroud dipped his head then began to limp after his men. Miriel turned to a nearby healer.

“Please go see to that foolish man’s wounds, he just survived quite the ordeal.” She told the healer and the man nodded, chasing down the Warden. Miriel was stepping down from the dais when she saw movement in the corner of the courtyard where the shadows met. She drew her bow and walked quickly over to get a better look.

“That was…quite…the inspirational…speech.” A familiar voice said strained. Miriel’s eyes widened as she dropped her bow and rushed into the shadows to catch the bleeding Champion of Kirkwall.

“Thanks…for that…Rift. I didn’t…really…want to…die, you know.” The bleeding woman said.

“HELP! HEALER!” Miriel called, not caring how frantic her voice sounded. Katra smiled, her teeth red from all the blood.

“Don’t…let me die…please,” Katra asked and Miriel shook her head as she searched for the wound to apply pressure.

“I won’t, Katra, I won’t. You’re going to live, and you’re going to see Fenris again. I promise.”

“Don’t make…promises…you don’t know…if you can…keep. First rule…of hero…dom.” Katra coughed and blood came up. As the woman began to fade, Miriel sent out a prayer to the Gods. _Let her live, please…let her live._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo, that was long. Thank you for reading! When I played Adamant and the Fade I found myself thinking "this isn't scary enough" and then I wrote this....yeah. Please comment, leave kudos, bookmark, etc. And if you want to cry at me on my tumblr (scurvgirl.tumblr.com), feel free!


	28. What Do You Do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People try to recover from the trauma of Adamant. SFW. mild CW for discussion of sexual assault.
> 
> CW free summary of Fear parts 1 & 2: The Fear/Nightmare demon created horrible scenes for each person in the party to experience. For Miriel it made her relive her worst memory that the demon had stolen when she entered the Fade the first time. Solas saw the memory of her assault. Katra sacrificed herself at the end of the chapter only to have Miriel open up a Rift just in time for Katra to fall through back into the physical world. The last time we saw her, Katra was near death from blood loss.

The day ended with an execution. Livius Erimond was slain by the Inquisitor as Wardens and Inquisition soldiers alike watched on with hatred. The crowd bristled with excited and vengeful energy as so many reveled in this man's death.

Miriel did not look at the severed head or the headless body. She purposefully turned her face away from the carnage, handing the large sword back to Cullen. Solas had not planned on watching the execution, he had lost his taste for such things long ago, but he felt obligated to watch over Miriel after Adamant.

The march back to Skyhold had been quiet, tired, and unpleasant. She had not said more than two words to him, even flinching when he got too close. He did not blame her or think less of her in any way, but he was deeply concerned about her after she had been so violently reunited with her memories. So Solas watched her. He watched her stay by Hawke's tent the entire march back to Skyhold. He watched her avoid human men as much as possible. He watched her refuse to be left alone, usually by sticking close to Hawke who couldn't really be left alone either.

Solas kept his distance, knowing that she would seek him out when she was ready. He also knew that she had suffered from so many shocks at Adamant, from Clarel to the entire ordeal that was the Fade to almost losing Hawke. Their bond was astounding and seemed to grow even in spite of the events at Adamant. As quiet and subtle Miriel could be, Hawke would be loud and bold – they balanced each other. And for Miriel to almost lose that balance…Miriel had said that Hawke had struck a decisive blow against Corypheus, but if Hawke had been lost, it would have been a decisive blow against the Inquisitor.

Miriel left the battlements, making a beeline to the main hall and her quarters, most likely returning to a still recovering Hawke. Solas didn't want to pry, so that left him alone for the rest of the day. The issue was that for once he did not want to be alone. He wanted to discuss what had happened in the Fade with Miriel.

He was also filled with a burning hatred for the man that had assaulted her. _To violate her like that, to attack her like that…_ Solas did not consider himself a particularly vengeful person, he understood the importance and wisdom of mercy. But this man…he wanted to tear this man apart.

The man was not here, though, and in his absence he wanted to speak with Miriel. He wanted to comfort her. He missed how she would sneak up behind him in the rotunda, wrap her arms around him and kiss him on the cheek. He missed sneaking into her bed and her sleeping form still reacting to him, curving to find and press up against him. He missed waking her up with kisses to her neck and shoulders. Fenhedis lasa, he missed her.

Solas knew that craving her like this, wanting her so vehemently was not good. He shouldn't need to know that one mortal, fragile woman was all right. But he needed, oh how he _needed._ How could he have allowed himself to attach to her so completely when he _knew_ that it would end? He was set on a course…a course he _had_ follow.

Solas walked into the tavern, needing company for once. If he was alone he would only worry about Miriel or stew in the hatred for the scraggly man – and neither state sounded particularly appealing. He entered the building and whatever conversation that had been going on went silent as everyone turned to look at him. He straightened his back as a low murmur began.

"Solas! Over here!" Bull bellowed, gesturing Solas over. He quickly made his way to the bar, ducking his head to maybe try to avoid any of the questioning looks he was receiving.

"The Iron Bull," Solas said as he sat down on a stool at the bar next to him.

"Fade must have done a number on you for you to come here." Bull cut right to the point. Normally Solas would have preferred more tact or a game of subtleties, but right now Bull's straightforward nature was tremendously welcome.

"Yes, I saw...a great many things that I... never wished to witness." Solas murmured. Bull made a quick, large gesture with his hand, signaling the barkeep.

"We need a pint of…" Bull trailed off.

"Mead," Solas finished and the dwarf nodded. Bull looked over at Solas and nodded appreciatively.

"Nice, not my thing, but nice," Bull said.

"When I am socially drinking, mead is my preferred beverage." Solas explained as the barkeep poured the beverage.

"What about by yourself?" Bull asked after taking a swig of his drink.

"Drinking alone is not wise." Bull snorted at Solas's non-answer.

"Don't mean you don't do it." The man said.

"I no longer drink alone," Solas didn't feel like providing more of an explanation than that, and luckily for him, his mead was finished being poured. He took a generous swig.

"Yeah, drinking alone is not as fun anyways." Bull dropped the subject. They sat for a few moments in silence, not alone but not being social either. That is until Bull exhaled and stared heavily into his mug.

"It's hard to sleep." He said. Solas looked over at the troubled man feeling…concerned? It was odd to feel concerned about someone other than himself or Miriel these days and here he was, feeling for this Tal-Vashoth warrior whom he had many disagreements with.

"Do you wish to discuss what you saw?" Solas asked. His attempt to help or initiate such a conversation felt clunky and he didn't really know how to help. It had been so long.

"No…yes…I don't know. In the Qun, we deal with fear by hitting each other with large sticks, not…talking about it." Bull drank more then signaled the barkeep for a refill.

"Where I come from, it was all about the pretense of perfection. Displays of weakness or fallibility could be deadly." Solas said in an attempt to communicate that he somehow understood what Bull was saying. It was the truth too, Arlathan had been a place of a pressed diamond exterior…and a coal center.

"That why you left?"

"In a certain way, yes." Solas did not lie, he…danced too close to the truth for it to be a lie. It was Arlathan's dishonesty and abuse of power that _had_ eventually led to take certain actions that would not permit him to return.

"My men were the reasons I left the Qun. I found myself more loyal to this group of dirty mercs than the Qun who didn't see more than just a number or a tool." Solas looked at Bull surprised. He knew that Bull had left the Qun because of his men but he had not been aware that Bull had been coming to terms to how sick the Qun viewed the people that had sworn their lives to it.

"Your men have treated you better than the Qun could ever even hope to," Solas replied and Bull shrugged.

"Yeah, but good Qunari died because I refused to believe what was right before my eyes." Guilt tore at Bull and Solas found himself sympathizing and understanding. In a rare display of physical contact, Solas reached out and laid a hand on Bull's arm.

"When you are raised to think a certain way, it is difficult to break that mindset. The Qun was your mother, your father, your teacher, _everything_ to you. Making the decision to leave, to save your men who were about to sacrifice their lives, not for the Qun but for you, was courageous. Weaker men could not have made that decision." Bull looked at Solas incredulously, then grunted as he returned to his drink.

"Your girlfriend is turning you into a pussy," Bull said jokingly. Solas shrugged.

"Your boyfriend is turning you into a dick," Solas sipped his mead as Bull burst out laughing. He leaned back as he guffawed. Solas smiled into his tankard, feeling…strangely content to have made the man laugh. _Losing my touch._

Bull suddenly came forward and slapped Solas on the back. Solas keeled forward coughing and Bull laughed even harder.

"You should drink with us more, elf!" Bull yelled.

"Solas is drinking? Truly I did not hear correctly," Cassandra said as she entered the tavern, making a beeline towards Bull and Solas. The Seeker was still in her armor, but she had left her sword back at the barracks.

"Yeah! He just came in, ordered mead, and insulted me," Bull said joyfully. Cassandra laughed as she pulled up a barstool next to Solas.

"It sounds like he is fitting in nicely," she then gestured to the barkeep, "my usual, please." The dwarf nodded then headed into the back.

"What is your usual, Seeker?" Solas asked. Nevarra was not a place he was particularly versed in, he did not know what crops the people grew and then fermented…or perhaps she preferred ale. Any measure, Solas found himself interested.

"It is a distilled alcohol the Nevarrans drink to get drunk quickly." Cassandra explained as the barkeep emerged from the back with a small tower of small glasses and a bottle of clear liquid.

"Yeah, what's it called? Water?" Bull asked as he eyed the dwarf filled a small glass with the clear liquid.

"Ouzo," Cassandra said simply, taking the full small glass and…drinking the entire thing in one swig. She didn't flinch, but did blink after tossing the drink back.

"Pour me one, good man. Your girly ass drink," Bull muttered as the dwarf poured another glass. Bull took the glass and shot it back like Cassandra. The Qunari didn't flinch but he did end up coughing as he put the glass down.

"Aw, _damn_ Seeker!" Bull said and Cassandra shrugged before tossing back another shot.

"Not a girly ass drink after all, then?" She asked and Bull shook his head.

"I stand mistaken. Solas! You should have a shot, put some chest on your chest." The barkeep slid a shot to Solas and at that moment he couldn't find a single reason in the world to not take the shot. He picked the glass up, eyed the liquid, and raised it to his face to take a whiff.

"It is not something you wish to smell, Solas," Cassandra warned as Solas caught the bitter heavy tone of alcohol.

"Just shoot the damn thing!" And with that Solas tossed the drink back. He winced at the taste and the familiar burn of alcohol, but he downed the thing. A chorus of whoops and hollars echoed throughout the space. Solas looked around to see soldiers smiling at him, cheering him on. An odd feeling filled him. It was the first time in over three thousand years that Solas felt like he actually belonged. In Miriel's loving embrace and gaze, he was happy and hopeful for the first time since the fall of Elvhenan. Here, in this tavern, Solas felt like he belonged, like he was accepted for all that he was. They all knew he had secrets, but he had helped and the Inquisitor clearly adored him, and that was enough for them – he was one of them.

It was the first time in an impossibly long time Solas felt like he could be the man he wanted to be and not Fen'Harel.

Doing shots with Cassandra and Bull was probably not the wisest decision Solas had made. He had craved that initial sense of belonging that he had agreed to another shot…and another…and before he knew it, he felt wobbly on the stool.

"And what was with the laughter? That thing wouldn't stop laughing!" Cassandra was slurring as she sipped the water the barkeep had gotten her after she had tossed back three shots in quick succession.

"And why was everything fucking grey and green?" Bull asked and Cassandra shook her head, quickly regretting the movement.

"The green is just how the Fade looks, the grey was what Fear superimposed. Black and white are certainties, grey is uncertainty, and for us…uncertainty is more terrifying than unknown." Solas explained. He really did feel wobbly, which was odd, alcohol had never affected him so potently before (at least not what he could recall). It was just a reminder of how much weaker he was with the Veil in place.

"Fucking demons with their fucking…super important grey mumbo jumbo shit." Bull swore, nursing his…whatever drink he had. _Am I intoxicated?_

"They're spirits who have been turned against their original purposes, it's not their fault…most of the time." Was he slurring his speech?

"It fucked us up, elf. I can blame it for that." Bull responded.

"Demons are messed up spirits who like to mess people up. They suck," Cassandra groaned, drinking more water. Solas couldn't really argue with that because in the basic essence of her statement she was correct. _Demons are just spirits that need therapy…should've been the Therapeutic Wolf, this dread shit does nothing for me._ He must be intoxicated to be thinking such odd thoughts.

A loud whooping and hollering echoed throughout the space. Solas turned to see what all the noise was about and went still. Standing in the doorway was Hawke, her bright red hair pulled back into a messy pony tail displaying just how pale her skin still was from the blood loss. She had lost weight in the past few weeks, her tunic hung loosely and awkwardly on her frame, but she was standing and smiling, and that was what mattered. Solas knew that it was incredible that Hawke had felt well enough to make the trip from Miriel's quarters to the tavern, but he was more concerned with where his Inquisitor was. _So she is yours, now?_ Yes…and he wanted her to always be his. _Ma vhenan._

He strained his neck, getting a small glimpse of frail looking blonde elven girl standing behind Hawke. Her eyes were downcast and she held herself as if unsure how to stand. And while this woman didn't seem like Miriel, Solas knew it was her. He hobbled off of the stool and made towards the entry.

"I'm back, bitches. Barkeep! Agregio Pavali! The entire damn bottle, please." Hawke declared. The tavern answered her with loud applause. The barkeep smiled as he fetched her bottle, even he was happy that the woman was back on her feet.

Solas saw Miriel dip out of the tavern, most likely heading back to her room. He increased his pace and was about to leave the tavern when a hand took hold of his sleeve. Solas turned to see Hawke looking very intently at him.

"I may just have been able to get out of bed without assistance today, and I may not even really be able to cast a spell right now, but I swear, if you hurt her I will kick your ass to Par Vollen and back." Hawke practically growled and Solas found himself smiling.

"It brings me nothing but joy to know that she has friends who care so deeply for her well-being." He said, clearly taking Hawke off guard.

"Yeah well…I'm serious, I can out-apostate you any day," she said before releasing him and setting out to the bar. Bull raised his pint and Cassandra made a celebratory noise, welcoming Hawke to their little corner.

Solas ventured outside, the cool mountain air helping clear his head. The moon was out in full force tonight, softly illuminating Skyhold. Miriel was on the first landing on the stairs leading up to the Grand Hall. Her hair glowed in the moonlight, her face appeared as a beautiful sculpture standing solemnly, looking at the Tavern but not at him. Her expression was pained as she turned toward the Keep, her form being enveloped in shadow as she ascended the stairs.

Solas followed her up the stairs, expecting her to head to her room, but instead she made a sharp turn in the hall, heading out to the garden. He followed, curious as to why she had chosen this detour. She stood in the center of the space, staring up at the sky, her eyes a luminescent yellow in the moonlight.

"Mir-Inquisitor," Solas said, stopping himself from using her name. She closed her eyes.

"I haven't felt like the Inquisitor much these days," she murmured, her body small and still. Solas took a step forward, his feet making only slight noise as a leaf crunched.

"Why is that?" He asked and he saw her bristle.

"How can you say that when you were there as well?" She asked, her tone cold and hard.

"Bull remains the leader of the Chargers and Cassandra a Seeker-

"They were not sexually assaulted." She said starkly. Finally she moved, her eyes opening as they found his.

"No, they were not." Bull had hinted at what he had seen, overcome with grief and madness, while Cassandra had wallowed in the despair of a doomed world. None of them had quite the horror like Miriel had had, mostly in part because what she was shown was an actual memory of hers. Bull _thought_ he had murdered the Chargers, the Seeker _thought_ the world had died and decayed, but Miriel had _lived_ her rape and the slaughter of her people.

"I was fifteen when shems attacked the clan. Do not stop me from using that word, they were not humans, because calling them human is an insult to humans everywhere. They were shems and they were evil. They…hated us so much, and I don't know why. They murdered a thirteen-year-old boy, Athennas - they gutted him and left him for dead. Lynnan was brutalized to the point where she allowed herself to become possessed by a demon – she is the only reason why they left when they did. Her power…she nearly slaughtered them all, but not before Pehla was raped and impregnated. She later killed herself, unable to bear her rapist's child. Her husband followed her lead." Her voice did not waiver, she did not falter. She maintained her chilling gaze with Solas, her gold eyes burning into him.

"Did the man who attacked you die?" Solas asked, his voice dark with fury. Miriel's brow arched as she detected the malice in his tone. She smiled cruelly.

"No. The coward ran. Dhavon ran into my aravel after he heard me cry in the beginning. The man quickly left me as soon as he heard Dhavon beat feet up the stairs to the aravel. I just…laid there, naked, bloody, and crying. I couldn't move, Dhavon had to carry me out of the aravel." She closed her eyes and turned from Solas.

"I was a coward," she murmured and Solas's eyes went wide. How could she think that? She had fought that man every step of the way, even when her life was at stake.

"No, vhenan." He began, stepping forward to close the gap between them. She laughed bitterly.

"I couldn't even fight off one injured shem! And when he hurt me, I just _laid_ there and cried! I didn't stop crying even when he had left! I was a coward and-

"You were fifteen! That man easily had a hundred pounds on you." He all but yelled. Miriel whipped her head around to him.

"You…you saw what the demon showed me," she whispered and Solas closed his eyes. He hadn't made the decision yet to tell her not that he had seen her attack, or at least a version of it.

"Yes." He replied quietly. A mixture of emotions flashed over her face until one settled over her – awe.

"You…are afraid of me being harmed?" She asked softly. He was startled by her question, was it not obvious how any injury done to her terrified him?

"Yes, of course. Ar lath ma, vhenan. The very idea of you being…assaulted is…it is unbearable, and I wish I had been able to stop it." Her eyes misted over at his words and Solas felt as if he had been brought to his knees.

"You care so much about me that the Fear demon, showing us our worst fears, decided to torture you by showing you _my_ torture?"

"I suppose so." Solas whispered. Miriel's hand went up to cover her mouth as her eyebrows came together in extreme emotion. Her hands then quickly left their places to reach out to him. Solas leaned in to feel her touch sooner, craving the feel of her delicate but rough hands. Her finger tips ghosted over his jaw and his eyes fluttered closed. Miriel leaned in and Solas was hoping she would kiss him, he would not close the distance between them, knowing that she needed the control this time. Her lips were a hair from his when she inhaled and leaned back. Solas opened his eyes to find her smiling.

"Is there something amusing, vhenan?" He asked and she gave a small, throaty laugh.

"Have you been drinking?" She asked and shifted his weight on his feet.

"I spent the evening drinking ouzo with Cassandra and the Iron Bull, why do you ask?" He replied and she gave out a heartier laugh.

"Here I was thinking that you weren't really phased at all by what happened, but you were so messed up that you were drinking…with Cassandra and _Bull_ of all people!" She released his face to clutch her sides while she laughed. Solas smiled as he watched her find joy for the first time since Adamant. His own shoulders began to shake with the beginnings of a laugh as he watched her. Soon he was guffawing with her. They laughed for quite a bit and after a while Miriel dipped down, doubling over. Solas reacted, dipping down to catch her. He automatically brought her to his chest before realizing that this was probably too much male contact. They both froze, unsure what to make of the position. Solas was about to release her when Miriel relaxed and pressed her face into his chest.

"I…I wanted to touch you but when I thought of it all I could think about was what it was like for _him_ to touch me." She whispered as she inhaled his scent. Solas was still unsure of what to do when she looked up at him, her eyes full of intense emotion.

"But you are nothing like him." She said, bringing her hand up to guide his face to hers. They kissed sweetly with his arms securely lovingly around her.

They went to bed together that night. He held her and for the first time since Adamant and she slept without nightmares.

**

Fenris couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat. He could drink and he could fight, so he drank and he fought. It had been three months since Katra had left, leaving him in the early morning with a hangover and a hastily written note:

_I will not cage you. I will not make you walk this road with me. The world needs me and I can no longer ignore it. You deserve a world full of happiness and opportunities, all I have to offer is bone crushing responsibility and death._

_I hope to see you again._

_Forever yours,_

_Kat_

The note remained in his armor, pressed in between his leathers and breastplate, close to his heart, because that was where her words had cut. She had written that he deserved a world full of happiness and opportunities but didn't she realize that that world didn't exist for him without her? He had made a decision to stand beside her, to be with her because he…he wanted to wake up every morning to her face. He wanted to kiss every new little wrinkle that appeared on her skin. He wanted to hold her hand without his gauntlets as they walked through a little street in a little town. And sometimes he wanted a house with a garden and another mabari and…he found himself dreaming, wanting a future with her. He had decided to stay with her. And she had…she had invalidated that choice.

He wished he could be mad at her; that would be so much simpler than this pseudo anger and understanding. This frustrated, empathetic emotion that left him raw and craving the numbness that after a bottle or two of wine could bring. Needing that wine, needing that numbness was what brought him to seedy little taverns like this one as he tried to track his runaway lover. He was currently in northern Orlais, heading toward the Western Approach. He had heard a rumor from a shifty merchant that the "fucking Champion of fucking Kirkwall was actually fucking best friends with the fucking Inquisitor." Fenris had investigated the plans of this Inquisitor, discovering that she was a Dalish elf who was heading out to the desert to wage war on the Grey Wardens.

According to the rumors, the Grey Wardens were corrupted and summoning demons and that this Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste even, was the only hope to stop the crazed Wardens. And apparently Katra had befriended this Herald of Andraste _because of course she did_. She saw someone's baggage and, unlike most people who had the good sense to run away, she grinned and opened her arms screaming "FRIEND!" at the top of her lungs. Fenris wanted to be frustrated with her about that, but it was one of the reasons he cared for her and one of the reasons they had met.

But he had hoped that she had become a bit wiser since Kirkwall and that whole shit storm. Was it really that much to ask for her to think of herself and her own well-being for once? Apparently it was.

He brought the wine to his lips, blaming himself for letting her leave. He should have known that her increase in bad days was not normal, that she was feeling something. And then…then she left, because she felt guilty for not being there for the world even though she owed it nothing. If anything, the world owed her seven fucking years of apologies. He had thought they were working through those apologies with their wanderings through the Free Marches and Orlais, learning how to live and…and love. But then the world beckoned and because she opened her arms to problems, screaming "FRIEND!", she listened to it…and left him.

So he drank his cheap wine, waiting for the blissful numbness at the bottom of the bottle when he saw three Inquisition soldiers walk in. They were laughing, jovial young men who appeared to be celebrating something. With practiced stealth, Fenris rose from his seat and walked in the shadows of the candles to get closer to the rowdy bunch.

"Did you hear about Adamant? We were victorious!" There were hollers and cheers of victory but Fenris didn't care.

"Yeah! The Inquisitor probably kicked demon Warden ass!" The barmaid brought the trio tankards of ale, quickly getting out of their raucous way.

"Cheers to the Inquisitor!"

"Huzzah!" The men clanked their tankards together and then drank, resuming their loud noises of celebration.

"Hey, did Kas say why he didn't want to come out tonight?" One of the men asked as they began to settle down.

"He's from Kirkwall, said he was really torn up about the Champion." Another replied. Fenris grew concerned, and he drew closer to the gossiping group.

"Damn shame, what happened." Another muttered into his tankard, looking sad as quickly as he had happy. Fenris resisted the urge to growl, maybe shout to just say what happened to his lover.

"Am I the only one who doesn't know?" The first man, the one who had asked about Kas, asked.

"You don't know? Well, the Champion sacrificed herself so the Inquisitor could defeat the demon leader."

"Wait, you're not saying-

"The Champion of Kirkwall is dead." Everything went silent except for that soldier's voice. All Fenris could hear was that the woman that…that drove him insane and made him actually be able to live fully and happily was…she was…NO! NO! It wasn't – NO! She hadn't when the Arishok had run her through with his sword. She hadn't when she had been shot in the neck, or when a demon had clawed her back. She hadn't when Templars had invaded her home, striking her over and over again with their mana drain that she was in a coma for days. She hadn't when Kirkwall went up in flames after Anders blew up the Chantry and she had been thrown by the flesh golem Orsino turned into. She hadn't any of those times, how could she now? How could he have let this happen? She was away from him, he should have been with her. She should have taken him with her. He should've told her he…but never did. He couldn't. No matter how true it was. He didn't.

All the air in his chest constricted, his heart broke as he doubled over in terrible phantom pain. He stumbled out of the shadows, everyone seeing him.

"Are you all right, serah?" One of the soldiers asked and Fenris shook his head. Of all the people to die…why did it have to be _her_? She was so full of good and wonder. She was always helping someone in some way, it was just who she was. Fenhedis! He had _told_ her that she was too free with her giving nature, that it would hurt her in the long run! He had said…he told her…no!

"I need…to know where I can find the Inquisitor," he half said, half growled, to the soldier. The man quirked a brow at the elf but Fenris didn't care. Why couldn't she have listened to him? Why didn't she take him with her? It should have been him if it was to be anybody! Her life…she was…damn this world! Maker take it! How could He take her from him?

"Probably at Skyhold, why? Got information on Corypheus?" The soldier said and Fenris shook his head.

"I just need to find her. Where is Skyhold?"

"Frostback mountains…are you sure you are all right? Have too much to drink?"

"No," and with that Fenris left the tavern. His feet barely felt the ground beneath them. He was numb, but it was totally unlike the numbness he had craved from the wine. Sorrow was etched into every fiber of his being. It was as if someone had ripped out his own heart. When the lyrium had been carved into him, that pain had been unbearably excruciating, but even in the depths of his pain, he was vaguely aware that it would end. This pain though…there was no end, there was no cure. There was, however, retribution to be had. The Inquisitor had allowed Katra to die. This Inquisitor, the herald of Andraste, the woman everyone in the past few months had been talking about, had just allowed the death of the most important person in his world. By allowing that death, the Inquisitor had essentially murdered Katra, and murder could only be answered in one way.

Fenris walked over to his horse, tying his pack to the beast as he formulated a plan. He would travel to Skyhold, he would find this Inquisitor, and he would end what he believed to be a miserable life full of lies and deceit. Then…then he would find a way to join Katra. He had made a promise to be at her side, to follow her, always. It was his choice and it would not be denied this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please comment, leave kudos, bookmark, etc. :)


	29. A Hero's Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a lazy morning, an important and unexpected guest arrives at Skyhold. Mostly SFW, but there are some discussions of sex.

Solas woke up with his back to Miriel. She was currently cuddled up to his back, her arm was draped sleepily over his waist. He had only recently discovered the perks of being the little spoon, and while he still preferred holding Miriel over her holding him, it was still nice to feel her against his back. Moving languidly, Solas turned so that he was facing Miriel. She was in the in between stage of sleep and waking. She would move and adjust herself, snuggling into the bed…and closer to him. Solas would not pretend that he greatly enjoyed how even semi and unconscious she wanted to be closer to him. It only fit because he often felt like he just wanted to be closer to her.

He maneuvered himself closer to her so that they were mere centimeters a part. Her eyes sleepily opened and closed. She groaned softly at the light streaming in through the windows, nuzzling her face into the pillow. Solas smiled, finding her absolutely adorable.

“Good morning,” he whispered, pushing the hair out of her face. She made an odd responsive noise into the pillow.

“I did not quite catch that, vhenan.”

“’ood ‘orning,” she muttered and Solas found it hard to not laugh softly. She was precious in the mornings, and while she may not have realized or appreciated just how cute she was, he had more than enough appreciation for the both of them.

Miriel moved again, this time the blanket fell down to her waist. Solas appreciated her form with a low sigh. She was wearing one of his thin, white sleeping tunics, and in the morning light and the dark tan of her skin…it was practically see through. Solas found his body reacting to seeing her. They hadn’t been intimate since Adamant, which was just over two weeks ago. He didn’t, and wouldn’t, pressure her into being intimate until she was ready, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to touch her like he had done before Adamant. As it was, he ignored his arousal and stroked her hair.

“Are we going to get out of bed today?” He asked sweetly and she shook her head.

“No? Very well,” he indulged her, getting closer to her. But his generous mood shifted in a mischievous one. He ran his hand through her hair and she made a small noise of appreciation. That same hand then dipped down to her waist. She hissed in a breath, and Solas smiled…as he began to tickle her. She gasped then squealed as she moved to get away from him. She laughed as he gently followed her. She laughed and her head thrashed as they rolled so that he loomed over her. His other hand joined the fray and she squealed in tortured delight.

“SOLAS! Stop! Oh Creators!” She laughed and he acquiesced, falling beside her once before. He realized that he was also laughing. Her face was bright, sleep shaken from her. She beamed happily at him. She laughed once more, about to say something, when she reached over and pulled his face over to hers. The kiss was bright and happy, full of hope and love.

“Good morning,” she said as they parted. Solas smiled as he leaned in once more to kiss her when he felt movement on the bed. He lifted his head to see Hawke sit up, a red halo of curls around her head.

“You guys are so cute, I’m going to be sick.” She said and Miriel laughed even harder. Solas shook his head, but he smiled, _this is my life now…and I never want it to change._ His heart clenched at his thoughts but he continued to smile for her. _Change is inevitable._

**

Katra got out of the bed pretty quickly after Solas had waken Miriel up with tickling. They were adorable…too adorable, and it just reminded her of what she had given up. She wanted Fenris with her, and she now knew that leaving him in that little cottage with that note was wrong and terribly foolish. She should have spoken with him about her fears for the world, she should have said a great deal of things to him _._ She should have told him about the guilt, the inescapable weight of the world on her…how she felt responsible. But she hadn’t, and now there was this potentially unfixable distance between them – literally. She didn’t know where he was.

She dressed quickly, wincing as her bandages pulled at her still raw wounds. Her tunic and leggings were loose, her ponytail messy and high, but for the first time in years, she just didn’t care. The Inquisitor was the savior the world needed, not the depressed apostate Champion of Kirkwall – and that was wonderful for all parties involved.

After dressing, Katra headed to the Great Hall, ready to finally talk to Varric. She had been avoiding the dwarf, and the man had graciously allowed it being familiar with her capricious moods. _Maker bless that dwarf,_ she thought as she carefully made her way down the stairs. The one downside of sleeping in Miriel’s quarters were all the stairs. They just weren’t conducive to the extent of injuries Katra had…or her knees. _My poor knees._

The Great Hall was busy with the usual activity. Runners and messengers ran about, visiting nobles and other distinguished folk discussed the happenings in Thedas, and by the fireplace sat a dwarf reading a letter on what looked to be a particularly expensive piece of paper. Katra walked carefully over to him, her unadorned appearance and rumored death meant that she was mostly left alone. She drew to the table, sitting across from Varric. She didn’t say anything to draw his attention…but she did drum her fingers on the table, she whistled, hummed, and engaged in her typical behavior when she wanted to get someone’s attention without blatantly asking them. Varric knew this and he was able to ignore her, but she saw him smile behind the paper.

Finally Varric set the paper down and leaned forward. They just looked at each other for a moment, taking in their situation and how it had changed so much…yet remained the same. Katra smiled, feeling her eyes prickle with emotion.

“Hi,” she said and Varric exhaled.

“Hey, Hawke.” And with that the seal was broken. They talked for _hours_ , catching each other up on what had been going on. Eventually they ended up on the topic of Fenris (of course) and how conspicuously absent he was.

“I was wondering if you could get a message out to him from me, actually.” Katra asked and Varric grinned.

“About time you reached out to him,” Varric said as he pulled out his book where he kept his notes for messages, received and sent. He handed it to her and she began to write, a tear coming to her eyes every now and then.

She was almost done with the letter when a frantic messenger ran through the Great Hall. His singlemindedness making him almost run into Morrigan as he ran into Josephine’s room. Morrigan pursed her lips and crossed her arms, but otherwise left well enough alone. She was walking to the garden when the messenger ran out of Josephine’s office with Leliana hot on his heels. Leliana turned to Morrigan and said one word:

“Elodie.”

**

Elodie Amell sat on her horse, waiting for the gate guards to grant her access to Skyhold. She adjusted her seat and smiled up at the guard who nervously waved.

“Do you like the Inquisition?” Elodie called, eager to have some interaction after about a year of being on her own. The guard nodded and then leaned over the railing to reply to her.

“The Inquisition is doing the Maker’s work! There is no finer calling!” He said and she smiled, glad that this seemed to be the purveying thought of the increasingly powerful organization. She knew that as the Hero of Ferelden she had some sort of duty to probably check up on potential threats to the country she had saved, but she was here for a very different reason.

“Have you met the Inquisitor?” Elodie asked and the guard shook his head.

“No, ma’am! But I see her walking around Skyhold frequently!” Elodie nodded happily. The Inquisition had grown quite large for the small amount of time he had been officially formed. From what Elodie had seen, the Inquisition was doing the Maker’s work and was doing a surprisingly good job at it too. She was also glad that in the wake of the Grey Warden’s inability to organize and neutralize _another_ Darkspawn threat there was another institute that was willing to do what needed to be done.

Her horse shifted and made a noise of annoyance as she had to stand there. Elodie bent down and patted the equine’s neck. Elodie’s behind was sore from so much riding and she was really looking forward to not sitting on her horse, and she was pretty certain the horse was looking forward to it as well.

Elodie heard sudden movement and she looked up to see the other had returned…with two women she knew very well.

“Leliana? Morrigan?” She called and both woman looked shocked as they stared at Elodie.

“I had no idea you were with the Inquisition!” This bode well! And what a wonderful surprise she had not expected. She had heard that the Nightingale was connected to the Inquisition, but for all she knew, it was a different Chantry related operative and not Leliana. And Morrigan? Elodie felt a lump in her throat form as she stared at the woman. She had not expected to ever see Morrigan again. Happiness bubbled up inside of her as she looked at the woman she had once called ‘sister.’

There was some fuss on the gate as Leliana instructed the guards to hoist the gates up to allow Elodie entry. Morrigan just openly stared as Elodie tapped her horse to go forward. There were sounds of a scramble to get down from the gate. Elodie stopped her horse once she was in the courtyard, greeted by the wide eyed looks of what must be Fereldans. She smiled at them and they fell to their knees.

Elodie sighed and dismounted her horse just in time for Leliana and Morrigan to arrive just a few feet away from her. Elodie smiled at them and gestured wide.

“I, uh, found myself in the neighborhood?” She said lamely. Leliana gasped and threw her arms around Elodie in an instant, confident that it was indeed the Hero of Ferelden. Morrigan waited a little further away, still watching with her ever bright gold eyes. Elodie hugged Leliana back, happy to once again be close to a dear friend.

“Elodie, I…how…you’re here!” Leliana said incredulously as she pulled away. Elodie felt the woman examine her, knowing she would see that she had grown cut her dark brown hair short, her face had a couple of laugh lines around her mouth, with a few new freckles on her cheeks. Leliana twirled her about, examining the light grey shawl with white trim and dark blue leggings Elodie was wearing. It was a more…expensive traveling outfit, but Alistair had insisted that she be better outfitted than when they had fled Ostagar and had to outfit as they went on a meager coin. “I am the king, you will have the best robes I can buy…hopefully they can protect you when I cannot,” he had been so upset to see her leave, but they both knew it was necessary.

“I am! I heard of a woman who was able to shake off what makes her a Grey Warden, which is right up my alley, so here I am!” Elodie said brightly and Leliana smiled. She was glad to see the spymaster, she really was, but she had known for a while that Leliana was doing fine. While acting as the left hand of the Divine was not exactly safe work, she hadn’t completely disappeared like Morrigan had. Elodie moved away from Leliana and approached Morrigan as if the witch was a surprised cat.

“Morrigan,” she said and suddenly the witch’s façade was broken. The witch moved forward purposefully and hugged Elodie close. This was the most contact Elodie had ever had with the woman, they were close, no doubt about it, but they had never actually hugged or really shown any other physical affection for each other. Elodie hugged Morrigan back, truly happy to see the woman safe and happy.

“It brings me great happiness to see that you are well,” Morrigan whispered. Elodie got a bit choked up, the witch just basically told her that she had missed Elodie. She tightened her arms around the apostate, feeling ten years younger.

“I missed you too,” Elodie whispered. They stayed like that for a long moment before breaking away, both smiling at the other. They had never needed many words and that hadn’t changed even in ten years. Leliana was a different story, however.

“You need to meet the Inquisitor! I see you two being the best of friends!” The redhead clapped and Elodie sighed. She wanted to catch up with her friend, but Morrigan gave a small smile and nodded.

“Go, you know you will not hear the end of it if you don’t.” Morrigan said and Elodie wrinkled her nose quickly. It was an odd habit she had picked up in the Circle. Mages would wrinkle their noses when they were…perturbed by the Templars or other Chantry folk. Morrigan knew the sign and she gave a short laugh at it.

“The Inquisitor is a remarkable woman, I am sure you will find her agreeable,” Morrigan assured Elodie.

“Yeah, if you can get her out of bed,” another voice joined the fray and the three women turned to see a short, curvy redheaded woman carefully descending the nearby stairs. She wore a simple tunic and leggings but she carried herself with a confident, if not injured, air. Her head high, a sarcastic smile, and a willingness to insert herself in whatever conversation? Could only be one person.

“Katra Hawke, I take it?” Elodie said and the Champion smiled, attempted to bow slightly but winced from what Elodie suspected was an injury.

“The one and only! And you are Elodie Amell! You know, I hear we’re cousins,” Hawke made it to where the rest of them were standing.

“Distantly, but yes…but I don’t really speak to my blood relatives,” Elodie’s family and she were on…peculiar terms. The Amell family really didn’t like magic even though their blood was laden with it, so they had sent Elodie packing to the Circle without a second thought or glance. Then she became the Hero of Ferelden…then she had people climbing out of the woodwork trying to claim relation to her. It only got worse when it accidentally became public knowledge that she was mistress to the king of Ferelden. It was annoying. Hawke here, however, was a much more welcome relative than say her Uncle Corrick who wanted Elodie to buy the four neighboring farms and then build him a mansion because he had ‘advocated for her to go to the Circle to become great.’ Yeah. Family.

“Yeah, the Amells are bitches, it’s why I changed the estate name to Hawke.” Elodie and Hawke shared a grin – their family would _hate_ that Katra, a dirty Fereldan apostate, had changed their good family name to that one that would beget even _more_ magic.

“Maybe I should change my name to Hawke,” she joked and Hawke laughed.

“I wouldn’t do that, my name does seem to have a bit of a curse with it. I mean, Hero of Ferelden _and_ now even more prominently related to the Champion of Kirkwall?” Hawke whistled. “You are a braver woman than I, but then, you did kill an Archdemon.” Elodie shrugged.

“I’m a Grey Warden, we’re supposed to stop Darkspawn from swooping in and destroying everything,” Elodie said, earning a groan from Leliana.

“Please, Maker no.” The bard murmured.

“Because swooping is bad,” Elodie continued. Morrigan shook her head.

“This is Alistair’s influence.” The witch said and Elodie smiled.

“I know, I love it.” Elodie replied Leliana giggled, she had always loved the romance between Elodie and Alistair.

“What is this about the Inquisitor still being in bed?” Leliana asked Hawke and the apostate shrugged.

“Miriel and Solas seemed to be really enjoying their snuggle time about an hour ago and I haven’t seen her yet, I assume they’re still there…getting their cuddle on.” Elodie smiled as Leliana scowled. It reminded the mage of when Wynne would berate Alistair and Elodie for lounging in the morning and then having to rush their packing and readying. Those were wonderful mornings, with Alistair holding her close, she would sometimes lean over to pet the dog-

“OH MAKER!” Elodie was suddenly reminded that her newest friend was still waiting for her signal at the other end of the bridge. She hurried past the gate and whistled loud and high. She hitched it twice then watched as a four legged figure began to lope down the bridge toward her. A jovial tongue hung out of the side of Rico’s face as he barreled towards her. She squatted down and opened her arms, bracing herself to receive the running mabari. Rico barreled into Elodie, knocking her back and onto her butt. Rico licked her face over and over again as she squirmed to affectionately get away. Finally, Elodie was able to extricate herself from Rico. She stood up, slightly mussed and slobber on her hip and shoulder but she didn’t care.

“Another dog, Elodie?” Morrigan asked, Elodie shrugged.

“This is one of Sully’s offspring, Rico. Alistair has the other two back at in Denerim.” Elodie explained as she patted Rico’s head. Rico was the most like Sully, with his lolling tongue, easy going nature, and incredible battle prowess. Rico had also bonded the most with Elodie while Belle and Duchess had bonded with Alistair…and Duncan.

“So, the Inquisitor is wanting a day off to spend with her lover and we are all apparently not on board with that?” Elodie asked and Leliana frowned.

“It is more complicated than that. We have important matters to discuss, particularly concerning Corypheus and the Red Templars.” Leliana huffed and Hawke sighed.

“Well, then I will go get her, I need to be up and moving anyways.” Hawke began to walk up the many stairs to what Elodie believed to be the main structure of the hold.

“May I sit in on the meeting? I know I should ask the Inquisitor, but it can’t hurt to have your support for it,” Elodie requested and Leliana nodded.

“I see no reason why the Inquisitor wouldn’t welcome your counsel.” Leliana, Morrigan, and Elodie then walked together to the War Room. For a brief second, it was ten years ago when they were all younger and less lined by the world. Elodie looked at them now and shook her head, _who could have fathomed that we would ever be such good friends?_

**

Miriel and Solas had lounged like lions in bed for hours. It was one of the most glorious mornings Miriel had had in a very long time. She had forgone her morning stretches to languidly touch, kiss, and talk to Solas. They were bundled up in sheets, legs tangled, her head on his chest, his hand holding hers over his heart. She felt the steady beating and it calmed her.

“Tell me about your clan, vhenan,” Solas whispered, his lips ghosting over her hair. She sighed and nuzzled his chest.

“Why do you want to know about my clan? I thought you didn’t want anything to do with the Dalish,” she replied. It wasn’t meant as a passive aggressive dig, but more of a genuine inquiry. She understood his resentment and had eventually realized that it wasn’t about _her_ , but about him still reeling from being attacked. After being reunited with her own memories of a vicious attack, she understood and she didn’t begrudge him.

“I want to know…everything about you, and your clan is a part of you. So tell me,” he kissed her temple and smoothed her hair.

“Okay, is there anything specific you want to know?” She asked. He was silent for a moment before responding.

“You once said you have sisters, what are they like?”

“I have two, one older, one younger. Rana is three years older than me and is one of the Halla Keepers. When our dad died, Rana kind of became a parent to both me and my younger sister, Maren.”

“Was your mother not present?” He asked softly, resuming stroking her hair. Miriel sighed.

“Mamae passed away giving birth to Maren. My little sister was a surprise, a gift from the Gods, my father would say...before she was born. Father never recovered, he…died in that raid.” By the way he suddenly tensed, he knew that she was referring to _that_ raid.

“I am so sorry, vhenan,” he said, voice tight. Miriel sighed.

“Father was dead long before his heart stopped beating. Him and Mamae…they were so in love, halves of one whole. I will always miss them, I was twelve when Mamae passed.”

“Twelve? That is quite the age difference,” Solas commented and Miriel nodded.

“Yeah, just think about it for Rana, she was fifteen. So when Mamae left it was just natural for Rana to become the maternal figure.”

“And when your father passed, you became the other parental figure.”

“Yeah…I guess so. When Maren was little she called Rana ‘Mamae.’ Rana got so mad. Maren called me Mamae once or twice too, but I never got mad. We were her mothers to her. She doesn’t remember Mamae or Father, all she has is us.” Miriel pinched a string hanging loosely from Solas’s sleepshirt, twisting it around her fingers.

“Everyone in the clan is close. Rana married three years after Father had passed, so Theron was less her brother in law and more of her father. Which was kind of weird for me, Theron is - was – Dinas’s brother.”

“Dinas was your hunting partner?” Solas confirmed and she nodded into his chest, her own tightening.

“Yes. You are placed into your clan role early, I was five, and he was six. The role really only changes if you become physically unable to do it or if you are later discovered to be a mage. Dinas was…Lynnan and Vathoren are my best friends, Rana and Maren are my sisters, Dinas was my hunting partner. I wish I could explain that bond, more than friendship, more than familial obligation. He knew the step I was going to take before I knew, he knew…me. And I knew him. Creators, how am I going to tell his wife?” A tear prickled at Miriel’s eye and she wiped it away. She wouldn’t cry, she had done that enough with Katra that first week.

“I wish I could have met him,” Solas said and she looked up at him to find that he was looking down at her.

“Me too,” she whispered and their faces drew close.

“Wakey wakey! Up and at’em! You’ve got Inquisitor shiz to deal with, Miri, and you wouldn’t believe who’s here! I’m not going to tell you because I want you to be surprised, but oh Maker, she is awesome.” Miriel closed her eyes in annoyance as Katra entered the room.

“Whoo! Those stairs! No wonder your ass is in fantastic shape,” the mage quipped as she stood there…staring at the two elves wrapped up in a cocoon of sheets and blankets.

“These are private quarters, Hawke,” Solas chided and Miriel, without having to turn and look at the woman, knew she was rolling her eyes.

“Yeah well, you need to get up, the Nightingale needs to speak with you, says it’s important.” Katra said nonchalantly as she sauntered into the room. Miriel leaned forward and rested her head briefly against Solas’s chest. His hands rubbed her back before she pulled away and began to roll out of the bed. Solas’s hand followed her as she left, and she grinned, liking that he wanted to maintain contact with her as long as possible. Miriel slid out of the bed and walked to her wardrobe.

“I am about to strip, Katra, my lover may ogle me and growl at you if you don’t make yourself scarce.” Miriel warned and Katra snorted.

“Please, I leave and he gets handsy, you need to get down there within the hour.” Miriel heard Katra plop down onto the sofa by the stairs. At first, Miriel found Solas’s vocalizations a bit odd, but now they were just sexy little quirks. Just for the growl, Miriel exaggerated her hip movements as she crossed to the wardrobe, stripping off the thin sleep shirt. The bed shifted and she heard a low hum of approval.

“Work it, girl,” Katra said, whistling. Miriel shucked off her old smallclothes.

“Vhenan, does it not bother you that Hawke is present?” Solas asked pointedly.

“She’s seen me naked before, and besides, it’s just nudity.” Solas was so much more…conservative than the elves she was used to. No matter, she dressed quickly, ran a brush through her hair then walked to the bed where Solas still lied.

“Are you going to laze about all day in my bed?” She asked demurely, smiling. Solas returned the smile as she bent down towards him.

“Perhaps, I may also endeavor to complete the newest panel in the Rotunda.” He replied. She kissed him briefly, hands resting on his shoulders.

“You really don’t want to go to work today,” Katra commented. Miriel broke away from Solas. They exchanged one last lingering look before she strode away and down the stairs.

“C’mon Miss Naggy Pants.” They headed down to the War Room where Leliana, Josie, Cullen, Morrigan, and another woman stood. The woman, clearly a mage by the subtle power she gave off, turned to Miriel and smiled. She was tall with short dark brown hair and dark green eyes. Her face was round with a smattering of freckles over her cheeks and nose and a couple of lines around her eyes and mouth. Despite her worn clothing, she held an air of sophistication that could not be disguised. She stepped forward and stuck her hand out, a broad smile on her face.

“Andaran atishan, Inquisitor of clan Lavellan. I am Elodie Amell.” Miriel did a double take as she shook the _Hero of freaking Ferelden._ This woman was like the gold standard of heroes. _Holy Creators above, around, and below._

“Uh, hi!” Was all the elf could say. Elodie just continued to smile as she stepped away.

“I try to not stun people too much, but you know, the whole being the Hero of Ferelden thing kind of makes that impossible.” Elodie laughed nervously, and took her hand away…only to fidget with the fingers of the other hand.

“Well, yeah, you killed an Archdemon and _didn’t die._ ” Miriel responded, still amazed at the woman responsible for current success of Ferelden. Elodie blushed and looked down at her feet.

“Thank you, you’re too kind, but I believe Leliana wishes to speak to you about something rather important, so…” Right! Leliana, important Inquisitor things to talk about. Giving Elodie another smile, Miriel approached the War Table.

“As Elodie said, I do have some things I need to discuss with you.” Leliana began. She paused for a moment, making eye contact with everyone in the room before continuing.

“We have dealt Corypheus a significant blow at both Adamant and the Winter Palace. Without the support of a demon army or a chaotic Orlais, Corypheus has…disappeared.” There was a confused gasp in the room. That was just too damn easy, well, not easy, but anticlimactic.

“What?” Cullen was the first to ask.

“Disappeared as in we don’t exactly know where he is, but we do know that he is sending parties to raid Elven ruins. We don’t know what he is searching for and keeping up with the Red Templars has proven to be more difficult than expected.”

“So what you’re saying is that we don’t really have a definitive next move against Corypheus?” Miriel asked and Leliana smiled.

“Not exactly, we know he is raiding Elven ruins, and what area in Orlais is move laden with them? The Dales. This knowledge correlates with reports of the Freemen of the Dales, a group you have already dealt with in the Exalted Plains, suddenly becoming rather prevalent and malicious in the Emerald Graves.” Miriel scowled at the information.

“I have read some of those reports, they mostly come from a man named Fairbanks. Can we trust someone who is probably using a pseudonym?” Miriel asked.

“It is our only lead so far, and in his most recent report he said that he has information that he will only share with you, Lady Lavellan.” Leliana explained. Miriel nodded, thought about it, and decided.

“Looks like I will be heading to the Emerald Graves in a couple of days.”

“Tomorrow, Fairbanks requested your immediate presence.”

“And why should we give it him? He has been less than forthcoming.”

“Because he claims he has refugees including women and children.” Leliana explained and Miriel sighed.

“Alright, we head out tomorrow. Can we get a runner in here? Great, yes, please go tell Bull, Cassandra, Dorian, and Solas that we are heading out to the Emerald Graves tomorrow. Oh, and Solas is probably in my quarters, announce yourself before going up the stairs, he is in a lazy mood and may not have pants on.” The runner nodded and took off. Everybody in the room stared at her and she shrugged.

“What? I am just a woman trying to preserve her man’s sense of privacy,” Miriel said. Elodie nodded in agreement and Katra raised her hand for a high-five.

“You go girl, protect your man’s privacy…and privates,” Miriel high-fived Katra and Cullen shook his head.

“Alright, I will send a group along with Leliana’s scouts to get a good foothold in the Emerald Graves. The Dales are not known to be a stable region. Also, scouts have reported that the Emerald Graves are also the location for major red lyrium smuggling.” The Commander said.

“Give me the reports and I will make sure to investigate it. Anything else?” Miriel replied. Cullen handed her the paperwork and she sighed, dammit she hated paperwork.  Josephine stepped forward, her extra nice diplomatic smile in place. _Oh no._

“You have been very…open with your relationship with Solas, and while we all here in the Inquisition support this relationship, it has created some…tension.” Josephine began and before Miriel could speak, Elodie stepped forward, clearly annoyed.

“Let me guess, some idiotic noble is miffed that he was informed that the Inquisitor is involved with an elf. SHOCK! I mean, how could she be involved with an elf? It’s not like she herself is one. Oh, wait. Lady Montilyet, I would advise you to tell the noble to stuff it, the noble would be irritated regardless of whomever the Inquisitor was passing time with simply because it is not him.” Elodie waved her hand as she spoke, her words shocking the room. For a woman who appeared to be so sweet and non-confrontational, Elodie sure knew how to command a room. Miriel now could see how the normally calm and awkward Elodie Amell had rallied herself to defeat the Blight.

Leliana gave a toothless smile as she watched the exchange. Josephine was taken aback, surely not expecting Elodie to really speak up during the meeting.

“Lady Amell, I know the political climate very well and-

“So do I, I am the mistress to a King. Alistair is lovely and wonderful and the absolute love of my life but Anora and I run Ferelden, we make the ties, write the documents. So, who complained? Comte du Loche? Baron Moncheroux? Or was it even Lord Savon? That little twit grabs my butt every time he appears at a dance.” The entire room did a double take once more except for Morrigan and Leliana, whose smiles just grew into a fully toothed ones.

**

Elodie was kind. She was sweet and believed in the best of people. But she would not stand for overly entitled nobles being bullies and throwing tantrums because oh no, they didn’t always get what they wanted. She wouldn’t stand for it, like she hadn’t stood for the Blight. Okay, that may be an exaggeration, but still, the sentiment remained the same.

“Thank you,” The Inquisitor finally said and Elodie turned to smile at the woman.

“Of course, nobles are often times crying toddlers who need to be reminded that the world does not in fact revolve around them.” Elodie replied kindly. She then turned to Lady Montilyet, who was well-meaning, but still stuck in the snobbery of the nobility. Elodie understood that Josephine couldn’t help her upbringing and it was her snobbery that made her so damn good at her job, but in everyday matters, especially concerning non-noble persons, she was not so deft at navigating the waters.

“I mean no offense, Lady Montilyet, simply that the nobles have no business in the personal affairs of heroes.” Elodie explained and to her credit, Josephine nodded and smiled. Next to Elodie, Lavellan placed a hand over her heart and smiled.

“You think I’m a hero?” She asked softly and everyone turned to Lavellan in shock.

“Uh, duh,” Hawke said incredulously.

“That’s so sweet,” Lavellan cooed. There was an awkward pause before the elf clapped her hands together.

“Alright, everyone, meeting dismissed. I am heading to the Emerald Graves tomorrow. While I am gone, you are welcome to stay Lady Amell. You have access to as much as you want.” Elodie smiled and dipped her head in thanks. Inquisitor Lavellan was quite the capable woman!

“Thank you, I am hoping to talk with former Grand Enchanter Fiona, but perhaps I can send a letter to Alistair and arrange for a meeting between our two parties.” Elodie suggested and as she suspected, Josephine lit up.

“Oh that would be marvelous, Lady Amell! We will need to prepare, what are His Majesty’s favorite foods? His favorite wine? Oh! Bed linens!”

“Cheese, the alcoholic kind, and whatever linens have me in them,” Elodie answered. Cullen chuckled and she smiled softly. _Oh Cullen._ Her first actual crush had done well for himself and she was glad.

“We will have to discuss this at length later then, Lady Amell.” Elodie was getting really tired of the ‘Lady Amell’ stuff. She knew that this was her title and yes, she had been known as Lady Amell for years but she had recently gotten used to _not_ being Lady Amell. She was just Elodie out there…alone. Sigh.

“I need to go prepare for tomorrow, I will see you all at dinner.” Lavellan said and left the chamber. Hawke and Cullen quickly followed suit. Josephine was about to approach Elodie when the mage turned to Morrigan, ready.

“I would like to meet him.” She said, getting straight to the point. Morrigan arched her brow and shifted her gaze subtly to Leliana before responding.

“And how are you so sure he is even here? And that he is indeed a he?” Morrigan asked and Elodie sighed.

“Morrigan, I know. I can _feel_ him, and by the way, he can feel me too.” Judging by the wide gold eyes, that freaked the witch out.

“He has not told me of this,” and while Morrigan was freaked out, Elodie could always tell, she did her best not to show it.

“I see the Orlesian court has helped you become more straightforward,” her lips tightened and Elodie had to resist laughing. Morrigan was losing her touch.

“How did you-

“I am also a mage in court, rumors travel. I did a little digging, I made a guess, and apparently I was correct.” Elodie was _really_ good in court. Whenever she did the run-around some noble Alistair would get this sexy look in his eyes…then he did sexy things to her later. _That man, I swear._

Morrigan was about to reply when she stopped and just gave a small smile instead.

“You are amazing in court, I am not surprised you were able to find me.” Morrigan complimented.

“Thank you, and no one else knows by the way. Not even Alistair. I love him, but I also love you and understand how important your secrecy is.” Another emotion flashed over Morrigan’s face, something like love and appreciation.

“Thank you…it has been so long, but you…you have always shown me kindness, and I thank you for it.” She wasn’t actually near tears, but the almost emotion in Morrigan’s voice was clear enough for Elodie.

“Of course, now, I would like to meet the son I helped conceive.” This time Morrigan almost laughed. All this reaction! Motherhood had changed Morrigan for the better.

“This way, he’s probably in the garden.” Elodie closed her eyes and let herself feel. She didn’t do this often, it reminded her too much of what the taint had cost her. But now…Elodie let herself unfurl the dark powers that had been bestowed upon her ten years ago. She felt…felt…

“Yep, in the garden,” Elodie opened her eyes to Morrigan maybe actually near a smile. Elodie fidgeted with her hands as they made their way to the garden.

“What is he like?” She asked and Morrigan thought for a moment.

“He is a paradox. He both childlike and wise. He simply _knows_ things….he also likes cheese.” Morrigan spoke like a true mother, her voice was full of love and pride. Elodie chuckled.

“Well at least I know some of Alistair is in him.”

“Yes, at first I thought I would be infuriated by it, but Kieran is…there are no words.”

“I am so happy for you, Morrigan, I really am,” Elodie said. They entered the garden, small groups of people clustered throughout the space speaking to one another, a low hum filling the garden. The two mages walked side by side along the covered area on the border of the garden, watching people strolling and children running. In the gazebo on the other side of the garden sat a small, dark haired boy reading a book. The other children ran about, ignoring the boy. Elodie knew he was a mage, could feel the swells of the burgeoning magic within him. He was powerful, but he was also calm and completely enraptured with the book he was reading. He looked like a smaller male version of Morrigan, with his dark hair and pale skin. He even wore burgundy like his mother…and was that a feather inspired collar he was wearing? Apparently being a Witch of the Wilds meant you got a stylish uniform, regardless of your sex.

Kieran shifted his position, bringing his legs up to sit crisscross. He leaned back on the bench and bounced his knees once…twice, before settling down. The boy rubbed his nose and returned to his book. Elodie’s heart fluttered in her chest and her hand went up to her throat where a lump had promptly formed. Alistair did the same thing whenever he read.

“He…he really does have some of Alistair in him,” Elodie whispered as she watched the boy. Kieran. His name was Kieran and he was Alistair’s son.

“He does, he is…sometimes I believe he is a better person than I am.”

“Alistair?”

“Of course not! I meant my son.”

“Does he know?”

“He knows that his father is a good man.” Elodie couldn’t take it anymore, she launched herself at Morrigan, wrapping her arms around the thin woman.

“You once called me a sister, allow me to return the favor, sister.” Morrigan returned the hug. It had been nine long years since they had seen each other. Elodie had missed her fellow mage the entire time. When it became clear to her that Morrigan was hiding out in the Orlesian court, Elodie had to resist traveling to Val Rayoux immediately to see her dear friend. But Elodie knew that Morrigan’s secrecy was more than just needing to hide from the Templars, but it was a matter of life and death for her unique son.

“Do you think…could I actually meet him?”

“I would like that,” a small voice said. Elodie left the embrace to see that Kieran had somehow moved from the gazebo to the corner Morrigan and Elodie were standing in. His dark brown eyes stared up at Elodie, clear and knowing.

“Kieran! This is a dear friend of mine, I met her during the Blight –

“I know. She saved me.” Kieran said and Elodie’s eyes widened. She knew that Kieran had the soul of the Old God but she didn’t think that he would actually remember. Oh Maker.

“I…I…”

“You saved everyone, including me. Thank you.” Kieran hugged Elodie, his dark eyes closing as he held the woman close. Elodie and Morrigan made confused eye contact. Morrigan smiled and threw her hands up playfully. Elodie hugged Kieran back, already considering him one of her own.

**

Morrigan and Elodie took their supper with Kieran in the garden. They talked, catching each other up on the last ten years as much as they could.

“Wait, you were living in between the physical world and the Fade? That is incredible!”

“I can show you, if you would like.” Morrigan offered. Elodie beamed, what a wonderful opportunity! She wondered how it would feel to be so close to the Fade and the spirits within it. She wondered what magic she could perform in such a place. Could she do a full-body heal with only a couple incantations?

“That would be marvelous!”

“I like it better here, there are more people.” Kieran said before he took a bite of his bread.

“The people are very nice, this is true. But did your magic feel more alive there? Like it…sparked?” Elodie asked and Kieran shrugged.

“It’s always like that and I like the people here. It was lonely there,” he said. Elodie’s heart felt for him, she knew a thing or two about being in lonely places.

“There weren’t a lot of kids there, were there?” She asked and he shook his head. Morrigan reached over and took Kieran’s hand.

“But it didn’t last forever. Then we were at the court, remember?”

“Yes. I had friends there and then we left.” Kieran answered. Morrigan took a deep breath and Elodie could see the pain on her face. She was doing everything in her power to keep him safe and that meant keeping him hidden most of the time. Even here in this great fortress, with an army between him and any adversary, Morrigan was wary. Elodie reached over and laid her hand atop theirs.

“I want you both to know that if you ever need a place to go, you will always have a home at the palace in Denerim.” Morrigan closed her eyes at the news and Elodie was scared the woman was about to cry.

“Thank you,” she said instead, her voice steady. Kieran beamed.

“Really? Are there horses there?” He asked and Elodie laughed.

“An entire stable of them!” Their dinner continued until the sun had long since descended. A few stars dotted the sky and Kieran stretched and yawned.

“It is time for you to go to bed, I think.”

“But I’m not tired,” Kieran said promptly yawning afterwards. Morrigan nodded and then eased out of her chair to usher her son to his room.

“Good night, Kieran. Morrigan,” Elodie waved them off, remaining in her seat and enjoying the night. She leaned back and took a deep breath. The mountain air was so nice and refreshing, a wonderful change from the hot, stale air out west. It was still lonely with Alistair, however.

Elodie took another deep breath and tried to focus on the positive. With her in Skyhold for the time being, she could most likely get Alistair here and they could both talk to the former Grand Enchanter. She had already told the Lady Ambassador that she was fine with organizing an alliance between this Inquisition and Ferelden. It was more of a question of whether Ferelden would be fine with it seeing as the Inquisition had already allied itself with Orlais. Elodie shook the doubt from her mind, she was sure something could be worked out so that Ferelden people would not as if they were being invaded.

“Elodie Amell!” A thickly Fereldan accented voice said behind Elodie. Her eyes opened and she turned around to see a beaming Champion of Kirkwall, holding two bottles of wine.

“Hawke! Is there something you need?” She asked.

“Yes! I need you to come with me to the Inquisitor’s chambers!” Hawke exclaimed delightfully.

“And why is that?”

“Just come! Now, come on, we’re going to miss all the fun!” Hawke shoved a bottle into Elodie’s hands and shooed her into the hall and up the stairs to the Inquisitor’s rooms.

Before Elodie stood Lavellan, Morrigan, and Leliana. They were all smiling, carrying two bottles of wine each.

“Miri and I drank and gossiped the first night I was here, it is our hero’s welcome now, and since you are a hero, here is your welcome,” Hawke said and Elodie smiled broadly.

“Oh you don’t have to do this, I know I am older and-

“Shut up and drink!” Hawke jokingly cried as she magically pulled a cork out of one of her bottles. She drank deeply as she walked to the bed. Morrigan shrugged.

“They invited the Nightingale and I because we are friends of yours-

“All of ours! We are all friends tonight!” Hawke was feeling rather boisterous tonight. Lavellan shook her head and approached Elodie.

“I don’t think I said it before, but welcome to the Inquisition and Skyhold. You are welcome to stay as long as you please. Oh and there is a rule here tonight.” Lavellan said, a mischievous grin overtaking her face.

“No titles, I am simply Miriel, that is simply Katra, you are Elodie and these are Morrigan and Leliana. We get titles thrown at us enough out there, in here…we are simply five women getting drunk on good wine and talking about anything and everything.” Lav- Miriel said. Elodie was overwhelmed by this generous offer and she was going to take full advantage of it.

**

What drink number was this? Oh who cared! Elodie was having a marvelous time, especially since the initial awkwardness of trying to get drunk has passed. Now everyone was pleasantly wasted, giggling and snorting about various topics under the sun.

“Varric would joke that Fenris danced from room to room in the mansion he was squatting in, but never did the dwarf know how right he was! Fenris would leap and bound from room to room, drunk or sober, it didn’t matter, enjoying the one beautiful thing his body could do. That is what he said, of course Fenris’s body was beautiful in everything that he did, particularly love making, but dance was his true outlet.” Katra had mused early on in the evening. She would every now and then wax poetically on the virtues of her absentee lover, though no one here seemed to have the guts to ask her why exactly he wasn’t present….that is until Elodie got drunk.

“Why isn’t Fenris here is you so clearly love him so much?” The room went quiet at Elodie’s question. _What? I am simply addressing the dragon in the room._ Katra looked down at her nearly empty wine glass and sighed.

“I left because I couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , force him to live my life.”

“What?” Miriel asked, clearly confused. Katra shrugged.

“Fenris was a slave for almost the entirety of his life. He should be making his own decisions and doing things he wants to do, not following around his lover who is obligated to save the world she had doomed.” Katra’s statement was met with a chorus of “WHAT?” and “SERIOUSLY?” from everyone in the room. Katra held her hands up.

“How did _you_ doom the world when you were so actively fighting for order and progression in Kirkwall? This makes no sense!” Miriel asked and Katra shook her head.

“Right, you didn’t blow up the Chantry, _Anders_ did.” Elodie supported the elf, earning her a nod and a tipped glass.

“I personally may not have detonated it, but I supported Anders, I _agreed_ with him. I hated the idea of the circles and how caged mages are outside Tevinter. I wanted change, so I…supported Anders and his mage underground, I smuggled mages out of the Gallows. I-

“You fought a righteous battle. What you did was help oppressed people fight against their oppressors. You did not kill those people any more than I did. I made Anders a Grey Warden instead of allowing him to be taken by the Templars. I am the reason Anders met Justice in the first place, but what happened is not my fault. And it is not your fault either. You _cannot_ blame yourself for the mistakes, the missteps of others.” Elodie said, making strong eye contact with Katra. The redhead’s eyes were full of sadness, of regret and guilt. It took Elodie only a moment to realize.

“Maker…you…you wanted to die,” the mage murmured and the room’s air suddenly turned icy.

“No…but I wasn’t against the idea either. Fenris should be free and I am the one thing tying him done constantly, so…” Katra trailed off and made a point not to look at anyone.

“That is a load of bullshit,” Elodie slurred. Miriel nodded.

“Yeah, Elodie’s right. Katra, he chose to run with you, he makes that decision to stay with you every day. You never forced anything on him. His choice to be with you is just as valid as if he decided to be on his own – love does not take away freedom, love is…in a way a freedom all its own,” Miriel said. Elodie turned her head to the elf, impressed.

“You are very poetic.”

“Ma serannas. Now, Katra, what are you going to do?” Miriel insisted. Katra rolled her eyes and leaned into Miriel, resting her head on the elf’s shoulder.

"I already wrote to him, you know. Today," she murmured. Elodie smiled and Miriel patted Katra's head.

"Good."

**

Even more drinks later, they were all laughing at another of Katra’s stories.

“The Templar then burst through the doors, stark naked and swore up and down that he had been attacked by an apostate!” Katra was saying. Miriel was laughing so hard she barely made any noise as she struggled for breath. Elodie guffawed openly.

“He later learned that it was not actually the Exotic Idunna but just a clever prostitute who used her wiles to steal _everything_ on his person!” More free laughter. After the roar began to die down Katra turned to Elodie.

“All right, it’s your turn, El, tell us a good one.”

“I don’t know, it’s been so long…” Elodie began but Morrigan simply rolled her eyes.

“Oh please, you remember everything and you know it. Tell the one about Oghren accidently walking in on you and Alistair!” A gasp rang through the room and Elodie waved it off.

“That’s not really a story though. Alistair and I were in the throes-

“Who was on top?” Katra asked and this time Elodie blushed.

“I was.” She answered to a rousing ‘Ooooo.’

“Get it girl,” Miriel chimed in and Elodie giggled.

“As I was saying, Alistair and I were-

“Fucking?”

“Screwing?”

“ _Making love_ , yeesh, we were, _are_ , very much in love so it was intimate and romantic-

“Oh please, you two were screwing like rabbits back then. Every night these moans and groans would echo out of your tent. ‘Oh yes, Alistair, like that!’ or ‘Elodie, yes, please, but just your pinky!’” Leliana chimed in and Katra’s eyes went wide.

“Oh no! Your man is into anal? I had no idea that my king was so kinky. I actually respect him more.” Katra gulped down more wine as Elodie turned bright red.

“That-that is private! Leliana!” Elodie accused but the redhead just shrugged.

“It was not that private if everyone in our group could hear it, El.”

“I-I-

“Just finish the story!” Miriel said on a laugh. Elodie regained some semblance of her composure and resumed the story.

“Anyways, I was on top and riding Alistair like the bucking mustang he is-

“How big is Alistair, anyways? I never pegged him for having a particularly large pecker,” was there anything Katra _wouldn’t_ say? Elodie blushed fiercely but before she could answer, Morrigan did.

“Do not underestimate him, Alistair has quite the…package.”

“How the hell do you know?”

“We all had to get naked when we went to the Temple of Sacred Ashes.” Leliana filled in. Katra squinched her face and sighed.

“So he’s a shower and not a grower, got it.”

“He’s both,” Elodie said blushing furiously but also grinning like a young apprentice.

“OH!” Miriel hiccupped and more laughter resounded through the room.

“Why did you have to get naked?” The elf asked gesturing to her empty wine glass. Elodie leaned over, pouring a generous serving.

“We had to complete some rituals to get to the ashes and the last one was to be cleansed by fire and we had to go through the fire naked.” Elodie explained and the two women not in the know nodded.

“The more I learn about this Andrastianism, the weirder it gets,” Miriel muttered.

“I never did finish my story. Anyways, we were very close to finishing when Oghren, drunk as the day is long, as per usual, stumbled into our tent. He saw us, screamed, then I screamed. The dwarf then spun around, meaning to exit the tent but running into the canvas instead. In all the chaos of flailing and screaming the tent came undone around us. I was still impaled on Alistair and the man was still going, unable to help himself. Just as we were revealed to the camp, he orgasmed, hips flying off the ground and lifting me up into the air as he came. It felt so good that I came too.” Girlish cries of ‘OH MAKER’ and ‘CREATORS ABOVE’ echoed and Elodie laughed, nearly spilling her wine. Nearly.

“Oh! Oh that is _rich!”_ Katra cried as she laughed heartily, wine sloshing in her glass.

“Okay, Miriel, your turn. What embarrassing sexual story do you have?” Elodie asked but before Miriel could answer Katra was answering for her.

“Only that Mister Scowly Pants hasn’t put out yet.” Cue the dramatic gasp throughout the room. Elodie’s brow furrowed as she leaned in.

“What? The way he looks at you, I was positive you two have made love…a lot.” She said and Miriel shook her head.

“No, we have done some manual and oral stuff-

“Oh but nothing compares to the Big Kahuna.” Leliana said and Katra nodded in agreement.

“And does he have a…big Kahuna?” Katra asked salaciously. It was Miriel’s turn to blush as she looked away sheepishly.

“He is…well, if I wasn’t so aroused by it I would be scared.” Miriel said and it was met with whoops and hollers.

“Well damn,” Katra giggled.

“And does Fenris have a sizeable…penis? Man I suck at this game,” Elodie said then drank more wine. Katra grinned evilly as she appeared to preen.

“Oh, he does. And he knows how to use it too, mmmm,” even after all of the adventuring Elodie had done, Katra’s brazen sexuality was still shocking.

“So how does your and Alistair’s relationship work? He’s married to Anora,” Miriel asked. Elodie figured it was a fair question since she was Dalish and was not familiar with the idea of a political marriage.

“Alistair and Anora are married politically while Alistair and I are married romantically. He has only slept with Anora to produce an heir and when Duncan was born, the need for that heir disappeared. He only sleeps with me now and it is like Duncan has two mothers. We all actually quite like the arrangement.” Elodie explained.

“Alistair has another child?” Morrigan asked, her grip on the wine glass suddenly tight. Elodie smiled, the booze making her feel light and giggly.

“Yes, and he is…wonderful. I love him so much, and that’s what I want with Kieran, they may not be mine by blood but…I think of them as my sons.” Morrigan smiled genuinely and nodded.

“Maybe I can ask Alistair to bring Duncan with him when he comes to visit Skyhold?” Elodie offered and Morrigan nodded.

“I would like that,” she answered softly. Everyone else in the room looked at Morrigan and Elodie as if the two women were speaking in a foreign language.

“Alright, what is this about?” Miriel asked.

“Do not worry about it, just old friends catching up about their children.” Elodie said but Katra narrowed her eyes.

“Were you and Morrigan in a relationship?” Katra asked and Elodie started.

“Oh heavens no!” Elodie said. Katra shrugged and returned to drinking her wine.

“It is just that you were calling Kieran yours and-

“She made me a fertility potion because she knew how much I wanted to have a baby,” Morrigan lied. And seamlessly too, Elodie was grateful. The world wasn’t ready for the truth about Kieran.

“Oh, well damn, good on you, El,” Katra took the lie and drank more.

“If you love having children so much, Elodie, why don’t you have any of your own?” Miriel’s speech was slurred and her idea of manners was probably totally compromised, so Elodie didn’t take the question in offense. Instead she sighed and shifted on the bed.

“Because I cannot bear them as long as I am a Grey Warden,” she answered honestly. Morrigan’s gaze turned to one of sympathy, but not pity, the women thankfully knew better.

“Oh that is terrible!” Leliana cried, her gaze definitely turning to one of pity. Elodie loved Leliana, but she had never been as close to her as Morrigan who understood Elodie almost as well as Alistair did.

“Is that why you wish to speak with Fiona?” Miriel asked and Elodie nodded. She quickly regretted the movement though, the room bouncing too much in her vision.

“Yes. I no longer wish to be a Grey Warden, and neither does Alistair. So I am once again on a quest, this time for a much more…personal reason. I want babies, dammit, and I won’t stop until I have them,” she was a resolved woman. She could accomplish anything if she simply worked hard enough for it – it had worked for the Blight, it would work for her here as well.

“Well, I wish you luck in your endeavor, feel free to use the Inquisition’s resources to find this cure,” Miriel offered. It was such a kind gesture, Elodie touched her chest and then took Miriel’s hand.

“Thank you, this means so much to me.”

“Alright, enough of the lovey dovey shit, we still have a bottle to go! WHOO!” Katra cried as she uncorked the last bottle of wine. Elodie smiled and let her glass be filled once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hero of Ferelden, the Champion of Kirkwall, and the Inquisitor - all in one place! I love writing gossiping women, it's so much fun. Also, Katra waking up in bed with Solas and Miriel is a little homage to Meredith and Cristina from Grey's Anatomy. I get a lot inspiration for Miriel and Katra's relationship from them. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please leave kudos, bookmark, etc.


	30. Defend

_Nightingale,_

_We brought the Dalish forces into the city. They joined with a resistance group formed by the elves living in Wycome and struck at Duke Antoine and the red lyrium supplies that had been placed in the city's wells._

_When the red lyrium was shown to the human merchants and laborers, they quickly joined with the Dalish and city elves. The fighting was short but brutal, culminating in the deaths of Duke Antoine and his personal retinue, which included Venatori agents._

_Most of Wycome's nobles have fled the popular uprising and now claim this was an elven uprising that killed a beloved ruler. For now, however, the Dalish are seen as heroes in Wycome. They remain in the city, uncertain of what to do next._

_Jester_

_**_

_Da'len,_

_Thanks to the efforts of your Inquisition, Clan Lavellan is safe within the city of Wycome, and Duke Antoine's mad efforts to destroy us have ended with his death. For now, I lead both our clan and the elves of this city, while the human merchants have formed a group that deals with us fairly and honorably._

_The other cities of the Free Marches listen to the false stories of the nobles who fled. I fear they will retaliate, but I am loathe to flee this city, as that would effectively leave the city elves to die for our actions._

_If you have a path that leads to safety for our people, I welcome your advice._

_Dareth shiral, Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan_

_**_

_Lieutenant Rozellene Chambreterre,_

_By the order of Inquisitor Lavellan, Herald of Andrasate, you have full sanction to fortify and defend Wycome to the best of your abilities. Try to talk the other Marchers down, but do not let them into that city with weapons. Protect Clan Lavellan and the city of Wycome._

_Commander Cullen Rutherford_


	31. Cry Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shadowed figure arrives at Skyhold at night. NSFW

Elodie’s “Hero’s Welcome” had been as alcohol drenched as Katra’s…maybe even more so. The following morning brought a hangover that not even Katra felt up to combating. Elodie seemed to be fine though. _Legendary Grey Warden stamina…and she wants to give it up…for babies._ Elodie Amell was fucking perfect and Miriel would have hated the woman had she not been so wonderfully kind. The mage was even currently working on a letter to Alistair about him coming to Skyhold to see they could create an alliance.

Miriel rubbed her head and realized that she was in no condition to be traveling to the Emerald Graves that day. She walked down to the War Room to discover that her advisors were already there, embroiled in a new crisis.

“Inquisitor! The Chargers just got back from Val Firmin and have some troubling news concerning a Darkspawn threat, we need to discuss it at length.” Cullen began.

“The Inquisitor needs to be on her way to the Dales as soon as possible!” Leliana said and Josephine nodded in agreement.

“It is desperate in the Dales, the Inquisitor is needed as soon as possible.”

“Since the Grey Wardens are now sworn to the Inquisition we need her here to dictate over what happens with the imminent Darkspawn threat. This is because of Adamant or something, we need to discuss this!” Then they were yelling and bickering, which was doing nothing for the persistent pounding in her head. Finally having had enough, Miriel raised her hand, her expression sour.

“Runner, please go find Elodie Amell for me please, we could use her expertise when it comes to Darkspawn. I will go to the Dales tomorrow, I am not feeling well today anyways. We can work out who will be in charge of the Grey Wardens and how to disperse them.” Miriel settled the dispute and once Elodie arrived it became even more evident that she would be stuck in this meeting all day. Ugh.

**

The meeting _did_ last all day, not including lunch and dinner. By the time Miriel was actually released from the meeting it was dark and she was exhausted. There was a dull ringing in her ears from all the talking, her eyelids were heavy, and her muscles were protesting every movement. It was a chore walking up the stairs, but she did it. She climbed that mountain and shuffled into her room. Solas was already in bed reading a book when Miriel reached her quarters.

“Ugh,” she grunted as she flopped into the bed. Solas didn’t even look up from his book, just flipped the page.

“ _Ugh,_ ” she said more emphatically. Nothing.

“UGH!” She threw in some light flailing. The corners of Solas’s mouth twitched and she knew she had him. His eyebrow arched, eyes moving to finally look at her.

“Vhenan?” His voice was low, worry and stress free, _lucky bastard._ Miriel flopped over onto her back and closed her eyes.

“I had a shitty day,” she huffed and he sighed…then the bed shifted as he moved. His hands were on her arms, urging her upward until her head was on his chest and her body was practically wrapped around his. He held her tightly to him, running his hand up and down her back.

Solas pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head and she sighed, letting herself relax against her wonderful lover’s body.

“Tomorrow will be a better day,” he said.

“Yeah, we’ll be on the road to the Dales and we can snuggle under the stars like actual Dalish elves, mmm,” she was exhausted and soon she felt herself drift off in Solas’s arms.

**

Deep dark pain, searing the flesh, burning bright, everywhere inescapable pain! But not skin, not physical. _Her._ She was gone and that meant the world was gone, his world was gone. Every carefully constructed proof of freedom and purpose _gone_.

The pain ricocheted through Cole like a fire bolt. He whipped his head around, trying to locate the source. There! It was like a slinking shadow, swirling in black and red and blue as it moved purposefully to its target. _Must avenge, kill._ No!

Cole rushed out to the battlements to chase after the bulging, festering mass of pain. The source moved quickly, however, and something was making it difficult to keep up or appear close to it. _Why?_ But Cole didn’t give up, he ran until he saw it! Him!

A man clad in black with a large sword strapped to his back was currently scaling the side of the tower Miriel and Solas slept in. Cole made himself appear at the foot of the tower and began to shout.

“The Inquisitor didn’t kill her! You don’t need to kill her! She is innocent! Katra is-

“What are you? Demon, I will hear none from you!” The man then _glowed blue_ like his skin was lyrium and Cole felt odd. Shut out, cut off, no pain, but empty, gone, _wrong_. Cole began to panic, he couldn’t help this man and this man was going to do something terrible! But killing him would hurt Katra, and Cole liked Katra. Warm, wistful, wonderful Katra. No, he couldn’t kill him.

Cole looked up to the top of the tower where Miriel’s quarters were. Yes, he could warn her, them. He allowed himself to drift until he could reappear by their bedside. Solas was wrapped around Miriel protectively and her head was down, her face almost completely covered by the blankets. Safe, sleep, surrounded by love and dreams.

“YOU HAVE TO WAKE UP!” Cole shouted. The two elves immediately awoke, flailing and wide eyed.

“WHAT’S WRONG?! Cole?” Miriel asked, jumping up and grabbing a dagger from the bedside table. Solas had thrown up a barrier, the magic dancing prettily around the bed.

“He wants to kill you! But you can’t kill him! He glows, he knows, he wants to die because she died, but you have to die too! But you don’t have to die, none of you do.”

“Cole, what are you talking about?”

“Who wants to kill her, Cole?” Too many voices, concern and pain and panic. It was overwhelming.

“Wolf to wolf, but not actually his name, but name he has and she knows. You have to leave!” Cole tried to usher them out of the room but that was when the man lurched over the railing and appeared like the shadow of death on the balcony. Solas and Miriel turned their heads, eyes wide as they saw the man unsheathe his sword and begin to stalk forward.

“Come no further! I will not warn you again!” Solas cried, magic and mana wrapping around him, _keep her safe, must keep her safe._

“A mage, of course,” the man sneered. He then glowed blue _again._ Cole shuddered as the emptiness returned. No no no no no no no.

“Wait, I know who you are…” Miriel murmured as she adjusted the dagger in her hand.

“I am the man who is going to kill you, that is all you need to know,” he said. Miriel blinked then turned to Cole.

“Go get Katra, _now_ ,” she ordered and Cole obeyed. He reappeared in the Tavern, startling everyone but he couldn’t care. Katra sat at the bar but turned when she saw him.

“Hey Little Creeper, what’s crackin?” She asked.

“You have to come! He’s going to kill her if you don’t stop him!” He said, grabbing her hand. He felt her grow immediately serious.

“Who is going to kill whom?” She asked.

“The wolf! Miriel!”

“Miriel is being attacked by a wolf? She is rather capable of handling that on her own…”

“Not an actual wolf! Wolf, unwilling, branded, scarred, marred, not like he was, but he _is,_ alright, beautiful, for _her_ , for you. You have to help!” Katra’s eyes widened as she began to hurry as quickly as she could toward the grand building.

“Fenris!”

**

Fenris had one goal and one goal only: avenge his Katra Hawke which meant killing the Inquisitor. It had taken him weeks to get to Skyhold but he was finally here, finally ready to get this done. He had snuck into the keep on a fruit wagon, riding alongside Antivan clementines for miles until the wagon had finally made it to Skyhold. He had slipped off the back and then was on his own, casing the keep, trying to figure out where the Inquisitor slept. She slept in the tallest tower. Of course, _is she some fucking princess?_

Night had fallen about three hours ago and now with the majority of the soldiers now in the tavern, Fenris made his way through the keep surprisingly easily. His leathers had been dyed black and the only light thing on him was his gleaming sword which sat comfortably in its sheath. Fenris’s feet were silent as he crossed the courtyard. He slunk up the stairs to the battlements and crossed the walkway to begin climbing the tower. The demon had been a surprise, but one that he did not particularly care about. Perhaps he would kill it too, before he died.

The windows to the top room were open and a breeze fluttered in, curtains billowing into the room. A large bed was centered against the wall, a large rug and two chairs were by the fireplace that was still aflame. The demon stood next to the four poster bed where two elves sat. The demon spoke to them quickly, the woman had replied and he had immediately known her to be the Inquisitor. The mage beside her was also unexpected, but he would just be another casualty because of the Inquisitor.

“Please, Fenris, listen to me. Katra is not dead, she is here and very much alive, please listen to me.” _How does she know my name? Doesn’t matter!_ The Inquisitor spoke calmly but Fenris would hear none of her lies.

“You associate with demons and you expect me to believe a word you say? You let her die!” He didn’t know why he was talking to her as he stalked towards the bed, sword raised menacingly. The mage beside her ushered her off the bed to be close to the stairs.

“We do not wish to fight you! Do not force this!” It wasn’t his face, but Fenris heard Danarius’s voice. _Do not fight me, little wolf, you will lose not only yourself but everything._ The lyrium in his skin burned and his vision went red. They would die and he would be free.

He roared as he charged them. His speed and strength had never waned. He had kept up his fighting prowess, hunting slavers and Tevinters. He used that prowess against these two now.

The mage threw up another barrier and lightning suddenly coursed through Fenris’s body. He shrugged the spell off, he had felt worse. Danarius had done worse before, so why was he holding back now?

He lunged forward again, crashing through the barrier. The Inquisitor pulled the mage to her side, throwing him in the direction of the window as she herself rolled away from Fenris’s sword. He advanced again, only to have her dance out of his way. He growled, frustrated, but she could not out maneuver him for long. He turned as she did, but he moved forward and to the side while she only moved to the side. The result was contact.

“AH!” She cried as the fabric of her shift ripped, blood blooming against her skin. She landed on her front, the gash on her back bleeding freely.

“You have brought this upon yourself,” was the only warning Fenris had before he was suddenly thrown through the air to the balcony, electricity now flooding his body. He convulsed and screamed in pain as he rolled across the floor. His sword skittered away from him as the remaining force had him rolling toward the bannister. But Fenris leapt to his feet, determined.

“Stay right where you are and I will not press you,” the mage said, _lied_ , as he leaned over the Inquisitor, inspecting the large wound. The woman hissed as he sowed his magic over her.

Fenris growled as he moved forward, picked up his blade. He had one purpose. One. It would be seen through. The mage’s head turned, his expression full of protective malice. Fenris knew that look too well, this mage was the Inquisitor’s lover, her guardian…just as Fenris had been Katra’s. He made to lunge forward but he was thrown back again. Once more his sword was lost and since he was closer to the balcony, he rolled into the bannister with immense force. His head hit the stone and everything went black.

**

Katra pushed her aching body up the stairs to Miriel’s quarters. She could not move quickly, even with Cole assisting her, but she moved as quickly as she could, desperate to stop whatever was happening in Miriel’s room. When the sound of battle reached her ears, she turned to Cole.

“Go get help, get Cullen and guards,” she said, knowing that Fenris was probably in a rage and not able to get out. Cole gave Katra a worried look but he did as he was told. She continued up the stairs, pushing herself as fast as she could. She was halfway there when she heard Miriel scream. _NO!_ She could not lose either Fenris or Miriel, both were important to her. She loved and cherished Fenris but Miriel’s friendship had proven invaluable to Katra’s own state of well-being.

She cast a temporary rejuvenating spell around her, energizing her enough to run up the stairs in time to see Fenris flung across the room like a ragdoll, hitting the banister of the balcony and going limp.

“Fenris!” She cried as she moved through the space, her eyes only for her man.

“He attempted to kill us, Hawke,” Solas growled as he tended to what looked to be a nasty wound on Miriel’s back.

“I-I knew there were rumors that I was dead, but I didn’t think,” of course he would hear them. Dammit, she was such an idiot! If she hadn’t been wallowing in her own drama she could have realized that Fenris must have heard one of these rumors and come to false conclusions.

“If he is to be a problem-

“No, he won’t. He was only like this because he thought I was dead, but I’m not. Oh my poor dear,” Katra settled down next to Fenris and began to gently inspect his injuries. He was knocked out and there would be a lump on his head, but as far she could tell, there would only be bruises. Even still, she murmured a healing incantation over him, one that he was familiar with. She was prepared for him to wake up and be violent once more but his eyes slowly opened, focusing on her.

“Hawke? Katra?” He asked, and of course he used her surname first. She smiled with relief, stroking his face.

“Yes, Fenris, I’m here,” she spoke softly.

“I must be dead then,” he murmured. Katra shook her head as she took his hand in hers, careful of the sharp metal.

“No, you’re very much alive, as am I. Fenris, I didn’t die at Adamant, the Inquisitor saved my life,” she explained and Fenris’s eyes grew wide as the truth sunk in.

“I-I tried to-

“Kill her, yes, do not think you are so easily forgiven,” Solas practically growled from where he was. Katra understood the man’s position, he had somehow restrained himself from outright killing Fenris and for that she was grateful.

“How is Miriel?” Katra asked. Sounds of metal and leather clanging against stone suddenly echoed from the stairs. _Ah, the guards finally arrive._ Cullen ran into the room, not even properly armored, but carrying his shield and sword. He scanned the room, saw the thankfully no longer bleeding Inquisitor.

“Inquisitor!” The Commander cried as he moved to stand protectively over her and Solas.

“I am better, Solas healed me, it was really just a flesh wound,” Miriel finally said, trying to sit up, only to be thwarted by a very cross looking Solas.

“I want Lady Amell to inspect you as well, I am not the most proficient healer,” he said and she sighed but acquiesced. Satisfied that her friend would be fine, Katra turned back to Fenris who was just staring at her.

“You’re alive,” he whispered, a gauntleted hand reaching up to stroke her cheek. She nodded and leaned down to kiss him gently. Oh Maker how she had missed this, missed him. It had only been a few months, really, but it had been too long, with too many issues between them.

“Yes, and…I need to talk to you…in private,” she said and moved to helped him up, temporarily forgetting her own injuries. Fenris stood up with no problems, but Katra winced as she stood. She smirked at the concerned Fenris.

“Just some lingering soreness, nothing to fret about,” not _entirely_. But the fact was that she should have been healed by now, but no healer had enough power to heal everything so deeply at once and so the healing was slow and painful.

“Fenris? Care to explain why you just attempted to assassinate the Inquisitor?” Cullen asked and Fenris closed his eyes.

“I was…mistaken, I apologize and will endeavor to make amends,” Fenris replied and Cullen, having known Fenris at least a little bit from Kirkwall, frowned but allowed him and Katra to pass to leave the room.

“There is a free room on the side of the library that is normally reserved for visiting dignitaries, but is currently vacant. You may use that for the time being, tomorrow we will have to find a more permanent solution,” Cullen explained and Katra nodded.

“The room is just this way,” Katra lead Fenris through the keep and to the vacant room. She luckily knew where it was thanks to drunkenly roaming the hold.

“Kat-

“Please…we can talk about whatever you wish once we get to the room, there are eyes everywhere,” this was true, Leliana always had people around searching for information and this was information that she would prefer be kept between her and her man.

“Fine, but it will be discussed,” Fenris said and she smiled. She knew they had to discuss _it_ and they would…once they reached this damn room!

Finally they made it. Fenris walked by himself into the room and sighed.

“You left me.” He said quietly, head down so that his beautiful white hair fell into his face. Katra sighed and sat on the bed.

“I…yes, I did.” She answered.

“Why? Did I do something? I keep trying to think if I made a mage comment or was angry, but I can’t…why?” She grimaced at the heartbreak and confusion in his voice. She had never wanted this.

“When I received Varric’s letter about Corypheus I…I don’t know. I remember dragging you into the mage Templar conflict in Kirkwall and how much that bothered you. I remember dragging you to Chateau Haine and to the Deep Roads, twice. And…I couldn’t bring myself to drag you along this too. You should be free and not have to tag along with me and my ridiculous responsibilities. So I decided that I would no longer be the stone in your bag, dragging you down. You are free, but my responsibility…I would always be bound to it, and I couldn’t bear the thought of having you bound to anything. You were truly free for the first time in your life and I couldn’t bear the idea that I would be taking that away from you.” She tried to explain. It was all true, she hadn’t wanted him to feel enslaved again.

“So you left and deprived me of a choice that I should have made myself?” He asked, his tone accusatory. His deep forest green eyes bore into hers and the dam broke. Tears fell freely and she shook her head in deep regret.

“I know now that what I did was wrong and I am so, _so_ , sorry. Fenris, I never wanted to hurt you or mess anything up but my head…I just…I felt so guilty about Kirkwall and everything that happened afterwards was my fault and I had to fix it and-

“Shut up,” Fenris said. He crowded her space and she reveled in it. He was only a head taller than her but right now he felt immensely larger as he took her hands in his.

“Following you was a choice I made every day, a conscious choice. These past three years…I have no memory of ever being actually happy. You…you made that possible. You are the most important person in my life, and I…I…Katra, there is no one else I would follow. You mean _everything_ to me. My freedom…it means nothing if I cannot have you.” Oh shit. Cue full blown sobbing. Katra fell forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Fenris, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” she chanted over and over again as he stroked her hair and cooed at her. He had gotten better at this over the years, comforting her when she couldn’t get out of bed or when she would just suddenly need to cry. He may not have understood her moods but he never fought them, he simply held and loved her, just like she was always there whenever he entered a rage. She wouldn’t touch him, but she wouldn’t berate or yell at him either. She would suppress her magic and they would get through it, together, because they were dysfunctional people in a functional relationship.

When Katra finally calmed down, Fenris lifted her into the bed, laying her down carefully. Her hand went up to his face and caressed his cheek.

With a quick tug he fell on her with an oomph but didn’t move away. He removed his gauntlets and then proceeded to touch and feel the warm women beneath him.

She flicked her tongue out to trace the shell of his ear all the way up to the point. Fenris shuddered against her and pressed a kiss to her neck.

“I have missed you,” Fenris said as he trailed his mouth upward before kissing her. His lips were a bit dry and clearly bitten. It was a nervous habit of his, one of his few ticks that showed how much he had grown into an almost normal person since his enslavement. Katra opened her mouth and ran her tongue against his lips, sighing at his taste. Oh how she had missed his taste. Fenris groaned and pressed his body more firmly against hers. Pain suddenly shot through her and she winced, but ignored the pain.

“Your armor,” she said and pulled up, quickly began to remove his breastplate. She could have used her magic but she knew better than to use any excessive magic around him. Fenris finally removed his armor and promptly fell back to Katra. She peppered his face with kisses finally landing on his lips where their tongues proceeded to lave and rub each other.

She was suddenly moving up, Fenris moving her so that they were in a sitting position with her straddling his lap. She gasped and pressed herself tentatively against him, feeling his hardened length through his leathers. _Oh she had missed this._

Fenris was tugging her robe off, pulling it down to reveal her still corseted torso. He grumbled in frustration. Katra smiled, reaching behind her and sending a burst of intentional telekinesis through the laces. Her chest heaved, expanding to its fullness as the corset loosened.

“I missed this, I missed you,” Fenris murmured, moving the undergarment and robe away.

“I missed you, too,” she kissed him, cupping his face as his hands fondled her breasts.  She sighed into his mouth, letting her control go and her magic unfurl. A low hum of energy filled the space. Fenris stilled, inhaling sharply at the feel of her magic.

For a moment they just sat there, gazing into each other’s eyes, letting their emotions shine through without any barriers. Only here, only with each other, could they be so open, so unguarded. She saw all his anger and sadness, and he saw all her guilt and worry. But they also saw through each other, seeing love and tenderness that was reserved almost exclusively for each other. And while they never said that word, they knew the other felt that way.

“Kat,” Fenris whispered leaning into her, his body finally relaxing.

“Fen,” she replied arching her back and raising her face up to his as he kissed her once more. This kiss was slower but hotter, full of love and apology. She wanted, _needed_ , him to know exactly how sorry she was for having left. Fenris accepted the apology and offered one of his own, and together they slowly removed the rest of their clothes.

His hands were amazing, calloused but gentle as he caressed her. Down they trailed, tracing random patterns in her freckles until they came across her still aching injury from Adamant. She winced, reflexively flinching away. He pulled away to look at it. He traced the edges lightly with his finger.

“This is what almost killed you?” He asked and she nodded. He met her gaze then dropped to kiss the still raw healing flesh. She grimaced but didn’t move away from him.

“I wish I could heal you, all I can do is destroy,” he said dejectedly. She pursed her lips and took his hand.

“That is not true. You…you make me happy and you make my heart feel so good, you give me comfort and affection, and you accept me – that is not destruction,” it was in moments like these where she was filled with empathy and compassion for Fenris, and seething hatred for Danarius. Even after his death, the man’s abuse and evils continued to affect the man she loves and –

Fenris’s hand was back on her cheek, his thumb rubbing circles, “I…I am yours.” He had no other words, nothing that could satisfactorily communicate the roiling emotions within him. And she understood, like she always did. Her mouth curved into that smirk he adored and she rested her forehead against his.

“As I am yours,” and then they were kissing again. His hands remained soft on her, careful to not touch her healing abdomen. He guided her back down to the bed, it would be easier to control the amount of irritation to the injury this way.

Meanwhile, Katra’s hands roamed over his glorious naked body, feeling the raw power in his muscles and physique and…and the lyrium. Her hands were automatically drawn to the lines, feeling their smooth, raised texture and the immense power held within. She tried to resist following the patterns, stroking them and not him, and she succeeded for the most part, but it was difficult. It was made more difficult by the fact that her body was hungry for rejuvenation and it could feel the potential for healing in his body.

“Take it,” he whispered before sealing his mouth over a nipple. Her back arched into him, fingers digging into a particularly large lyrium vein in back.

“No,” she sighed. A frustrated noise rumbled through him but he didn’t say anything. Oh no, he just moved his hand down to her sex and began to play. He ran his knuckles just on the outside of her folds, occasionally slipping a finger into her opening.

“Fenris,” she clutched at his shoulders and a sudden rush of energy filled her before she realized she had accidentally drawn on his lyrium. She flung her hands up, keeping them away from him. He growled again, reaching up and pulling her hands back to him.

“Take. It.” It was a command this time, but she was adamant. He was not her personal lightning rod or lyrium potion, she would not use him like this.

His mouth was warm and insistent on hers. Her body softened even further for him and he began to thrust a finger in and out, in and out. He added another finger, stretching her. Her toes curled and she raked her nails down his back, gripping his ass.

“Katra,” he groaned, arching into her touch. His lyrium was beginning to glow faintly, creating an eerie light in the room – but she didn’t care. Katra widened her legs, letting him settle at the apex of her thighs. His heavy length settled against her and she moaned, wanting it inside her.

“Fenris, don’t wait – we can go slow next time, but I need…please, Fenris,” she begged, gently thrusting her sex against his manhood. His gasps and sudden intakes of breath were her only rewards however as he continued to tease her, running his length up and down her folds without penetrating her.

“Take it,” he whispered, kissing her neck.

“Fenris…”

“Take it,” his head just _barely_ dipped inside of her before resuming his previous teasing. She writhed underneath him, whining.

“Fen, I need you, fuck me, please.”

“Take it and I will be glad to,” he growled, nipping her earlobe.

“I don’t -

“Katra.”

“Fine!” Frustrated, she planted a hand at the center of his back, and one on his heart. She took a deep breath and _pulled_. Fenris groaned, shuddered, and keeled against her while she bit her lip in ecstasy as white hot energy and power flooded her body. For a moment, it was all unrestrained and she was simply bombarded with Fenris’s power. And then her own magic coiled around it, directing it to her abdomen for healing and dispersing the rest in general healing for her body.

She lurched up, sealing her lips against Fenris’s as her flesh mended. He held her to him, needing to feel her, alive and well, against him. His hips canted and then he was driving himself into her, hard and fast.

Katra screamed at the over stimulation. The power had not yet left her when he began a hard, fast pace that she oh so craved. Magic and energy danced over her skin like a prickling sensation. Her nipples stood on end and she could cry at the sensations of sparks there. Her magic flared out, filling the space. The air crackled and Fenris shuddered, biting his lip not in pain but in pleasure as he welcomed _her_ magic.

“Katra,” he moaned into her neck before sucking wildly at her flesh. He reached down and hoisted up her leg to wrap around his hips, allowing him easier access to her.

His back arched, rubbing against her clit as he pounded into her, growling into her ear. Pressure built at the base of her spine, coiling inwards to her womb until her sex pulsed around Fenris’s cock in a brilliant, earth-shattering orgasm.

Her nails dug into shoulders and he groaned at feeling her contracting sheath.

“Katra-a-ah,” one, two, three more forceful thrusts and then he was spilling himself in her. He collapsed half on top of her, half on his side.

She looked at his face and couldn’t help but smile, a laugh suddenly bubbling up in her chest.

“Is something funny?” He asked, smiling back at her and pushing her hair out of her face.

“No, not exactly. I’m just…I’m so happy you’re here!” She flung herself at him, feeling completely rejuvenated by their love making. Her arms wrapped around him and his around her.

“Please don’t leave me again,” he whispered into her hair. She shook her head, squeazing him even tighter.

“Never. Don’t leave me?” She answered.

“Never.”

**

Miriel’s back hurt like a motherfucker and it wasn’t helping that Solas and Elodie were poking and prodding at it.

“I am fine, really, Solas you did a wonderful job,” she said but they did not relent. She was currently laying on the bed on her stomach while the two mages worked. Hands were suddenly rubbing something that felt _amazing_ on her skin and she almost moaned. From the size and familiarity of the hands, they were Solas’s. Somehow arousal spiked within her and she had to bite her lip from moaning as he rubbed the salve into freshly mended skin.

“It looks like you are now healed, how are you feeling?” he asked softly, bending down to look her in the eye. _Oh now he asks how I am doing._

“It’s a little sore, but that will take care of itself in time,” she replied honestly. The edges of his mouth quirked up and he moved away.

“Please, let the Inquisitor rest, it has been an eventful night and she needs her rest,” Solas declared to the rest of the room.

“Sleep well, Miriel,” Elodie waved goodbye as she left the room with Cullen and the guards. Soon it was just her and Solas. She was about to speak when he was suddenly holding her chin gently in his hand, keeping her gaze locked on his.

“Never do that again, vhenan,” his voice was full of fierce emotion, part fury part love part relief. She smiled at him and reached out to stroke his cheek.

“What kind of hero would I be if I didn’t shove a bystander out of the way?” She asked trying to be playful but he frowned.

“I am hardly a bystander, and he was attacking _you_ , I was in less danger, yet you-

“I can’t bear the thought of seeing you cut down,” she interrupted him, her tone serious as she cupped his face.

“I cannot bear seeing you cut down anymore, you place yourself in danger constantly and I…” he paused, his eyes closing before resting his forehead against hers, “please, for me, just…for me.” He pleaded and she felt her heart swell. This man…this wonderful, kind, beautiful man loved her and worried for her and cared so deeply and passionately for her. He had laid his heart bare to her, telling her how he felt for her and she…she had yet to tell him how she felt.

Miriel shifted and Solas moved to allow her to sit up. Their intimate space was only temporarily broken, however, as she pulled his face back to hers for a gentle kiss.

“Ar lath ma, sa’lath,” she murmured, still whisper close to him. A tremor seemed go through him as his eyes opened. It was indescribable looking into his eyes, no barriers between them, just love, just pure and beautiful love. She had loved Dhavon, she knew that, but this…this was so much more. Solas was everything she had never known she had wanted or needed, intense and studious and passionate about everything he engaged in. He was complex and quiet, but he was…oh Creators, he was _everything._ She loved him with all that she was and all that she would be and it was a startling realization of just how intense her feelings for him were.

Miriel stroked his face and kissed him again, this time the love and passion between them spiking. Solas pressed against her gently. Miriel laid back gingerly, carefully noting the slight discomfort from her freshly healed wound.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” Solas whispered in her ear, tongue flicking out to tease her ear. A shudder went through Miriel as he came atop of her. He kissed her again, tongue pressing eagerly at her lips. She resisted the urge to giggle, _always so eager for tongue._ She opened for him and soon their tongues were rubbing against each other and they were nigh breathing each other. She cupped his head, distantly wishing he had hair to run her hands through. Her legs wrapped around his hips, aligning their pelvises. He was already hard in his loose leggings and she reveled in how she affected him.

“Solas, ma solas,” she crooned as he moved his mouth down to suck at her neck. He ground his lower body against hers, his hands roaming over her still shift covered body. He suddenly leaned back, she whined at the loss but soon he was gripping the hem of her shift and pushing it up. Miriel arched her back and went through the necessary motions to have the offending garment removed. She was then bare to him, except for her smalls which he quickly took care of as well. She squirmed in arousal under his gaze, biting her lip as she wiggled her hips suggestively at him. He smiled and quickly stripped off his tunic.

Solas moved over, smiling deviously as he pressed tender kisses to her supple skin. Lips sealed over a nipple and sucked. She gasped at the pleasure, pushing into him. He had told her that he had dreamed of doing this and she repressed a giggle.

“A dream come true, love?” She asked playfully and he looked up with pure wonder and love in his eyes.

“More than you know, ma’sa’lath,” he pressed a kiss to her sternum and moved up her body to kiss her on the lips. Her hands went to cup his face once more but his own hand took hers and held them above her head.

_Held down, can’t move – don’t move, the knife –_ Panic suddenly lanced through her, overwhelming the pleasure. Her body immediately bucked and she turned her head away, suddenly unable to breathe.

“No,” she almost shouted. Solas was off of her in an instant, giving her much needed distance while she wrapped her arms around herself.

“Vhenan? What happened? Are you alright?” Solas asked, still sitting a good distance away.

“I am going to go get Lady Amell or Hawke or –

“Solas,” she gasped, forehead to the sheets, “just…wait.” And for once he listened, he remained still though still concerned. Not that she blamed him.

_I am in Skyhold. I am free. I am the Inquisitor._ She chanted this to herself over and over again, trying to reestablish her reality. She wasn’t there, _he_ wasn’t here, and she was safe.

Her breathing eventually began to steady and her heart slowed. She loosened her grip on her ribs and reached behind her blindly searching for Solas’s hand. His hand was warm and gentle and he thankfully didn’t try to touch her more than that.

“Vhenan?” He asked again, softer this time.

“I…I don’t like being held down,” she replied quietly.

“I am so sorry, I should have been more careful. I would understand if you did not wish me to stay the night –

“Shh, I want you to stay the night…unless you don’t?” A new worry overtook her as she realized what this meant. Maybe this was too much for him and he didn’t want this and –

“I do, my concern is for you.” He whispered, his voice a soothing balm against her panic. She nodded quickly and was finally able to let go of herself.

“There’s another shift or tunic on the couch, could you get it for me?” She asked, hoping he would mind. He didn’t and soon he was handing the garment over. Once clothed and feeling a bit safer, she leaned into him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his chest. His arms wrapped tentatively around her.

“Tel’abelas, you have nothing to apologize for.”

“Ma serannas,” she whispered and he smiled.

“Do you need time?” He asked and she took a deep breath, thinking. It had been a while since she had trusted herself and another enough to be so physically intimate. She trusted Solas, and she loved him, she did…but she was unsure if she was ready, and she had to be completely sure, feel completely safe.

“I think I do,” she whispered and he continued to smile.

“Then we wait,” it was a like a huge weight being lifted off her shoulders in that moment. There was no pressure to have sex. They loved each other and that wasn’t going away simply because she had these issues.

They fell back into the bed, cuddling into each other.

“Thank you,” she said again and he kissed the top of her head.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

“Ar lath ma, sa’lath.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenhawke smut anyone? I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I knew from the beginning that I wanted to bring Fenris to Skyhold, it was just a matter of getting him here. And let's be real, as strong and skilled as Fenris is, Solas would annihilate him in a fight, not even close. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please leave kudos, comment, bookmark, etc! If you want to see more Katra x Fenris, feel free to prompt me over at scurvgirl.tumblr.com :) <3


	32. What Makes A Good Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miriel heads out to the Emerald Graves while Elodie and Cullen head to Val Rayoux. NSFW

It rained the entire way to the Emerald Graves. The entire damn way. Ugh. Miriel had almost forgotten what it felt like to be dry by the time they made it to the destination. Bull was unbothered by the wetness, his grey skin actually appearing to glisten with the rain. Dorian enjoyed the show at least, showing off his own pectoral muscles. But Miriel was a small, tanned, elf who just looked like a sad, wet, little puppy with all this rain. Solas and Cassandra distracted themselves by talking ceaselessly about faith and hope. Miriel was developing a cold, or the Dales simply didn’t agree with her…she hoped for the cold.

Being a Dalish elf in the Dales was always a weird thing. Emotions of betrayal, sadness, anger, but most of all she felt a horrible longing for a home that she never knew and would probably never know. It was such a beautiful region and it was supposed to belong to her people…it was supposed to be so many things.

Miriel sighed but trudged ahead. It was the fourth day of travel and they were finally starting to come across the large trees that bordered the Emerald Graves. Miriel’s heart launched itself into her throat and she closed her eyes, briefly steeling herself for what she knew was going to be a trying time. _Here we go_ , she thought and then moved forward. Ever forward, because they couldn’t go back. Maybe one day, with all the power she had accrued from being Inquisitor, she could somehow create a home for her people. A home without wheels and the constant fear of humans hurting them. She kept this image of a home in her mind as the rain turned cold and forced the group to stop for yet another night.

She was on last watch as per usual when Solas joined her. He took her hand and pulled her to his side.

“I wish I could have seen it, what our people had built here,” he said and she started, looking up at his pale face.

“You said ‘our people,’” she murmured and he gave her a small smile.

“Because they are. I have been foolish to deny it.” Miriel lit up and felt all the horrible emotion that had been plaguing her since coming to the Dales dissipate. She sat up and kissed Solas with all the love in her heart. She stroked his cheeks as he held her waist.

“I love you,” she just couldn’t say it enough. It was her light in the darkness, a beacon of hope against all the death and destruction around her. It was this love that made her understand exactly how Elodie and Alistair had defeated the Blight with almost nothing more than their Grey Warden status and a fire under their butt. Love. She could conquer all if she loved and was loved in return.

“Ar lath ma,” he kissed her back, and she felt like a complete sap. But a happy sap. _I am never letting you go, ma Solas._

**

Elodie had finished writing her letter to Alistair the day Miriel left for the Emerald Graves. She sent the letter out with a runner then went to go find Fiona. She was excited to finally speak with the woman and hopefully find the key to ridding herself of the taint. She was walking happily to the library when a runner came into the Great Hall looking panicked.

“Lady Amell! Hero of Ferelden!” He cried, gesturing to her wildly. Apparently Fiona would have to wait. Elodie went to the man, feeling perplexed.

“What is the issue, good man?” She asked the wheezing man.

“Blackwall, Warden Blackwall, is missing!” Blackwall was one of Elodie’s companions and it did not bode well for him to be missing.

“Surely he is just out-

“No! He left this note for the Inquisitor!” The man cried, handing the note to Elodie. Ignoring the fact that it was meant for Miriel, Elodie read the note and sighed. Yep, the man had left and it sounded like he had left because of a grave personal guilt issue. Oh dear.

“Where does Blackwall reside when he is here?” She asked the runner.

“By the stables, he does a lot of wood working,” Elodie was already off in that direction before the runner finished his sentence. She arrived at the scene to find one of Leliana’s men already there, lurking in the shadows.

“It is true, Blackwall is gone, but I found this note-

“Let me see that,” Elodie took the piece of paper in the man’s hands. It was about Thom Rainier and an execution. Why would this be of interest to Blackwall?

“So Leliana believes Blackwall is in Val Rayoux attending this man’s hanging?” She asked and the man gave a slight nod.

“The Nightingale said this might interest you,” he said and she was already gesturing for a horse.

“Go inform Cullen that I am about to head to Val Rayoux, he has an hour to ready himself,” she said as she herself began to get ready for the ride to Val Rayoux.

**

The rain eventually let up, revealing a beautiful forest of vibrant greens. Radiant sunlight spilled through the canopy and for a moment, Miriel thought they were in the Fade instead of the Dales. The further they journeyed into this place, the more Miriel loved it. She felt at home in the dense thicket and high in the trees where she could move silently, deadly. Enemies never saw her coming in this theatre, and there were many enemies. The Freemen of the Dales were numerous and quite vicious, but she was able to kill most of them with precise arrows before Bull had even finished his charge. It annoyed the large Vashoth but she didn’t really care, she felt on fire here. Connected. Oh Creators how she had missed the forest.

They made their way to Fairbanks’s camp out, listening to the issues plaguing these innocent people. Apparently the Freemen were aligned with the Red Templars which was bad. Really bad. Miriel knew that she should be more concerned about the Red Templars and the Freemen, but there was something about this place. She was strangely invigorated. Yes, she felt the melancholy and the history of the place was overwhelming…but she also was falling in love with the old, odd forest. It was like she could feel all the old energy swirling around her, lifting her, making her fly through the Dales with the grace of old elves and older magic.

After cleaning out the veridium mine of Freemen and then freeing some of Fairbanks’s people, the group set up camp. Dusk fell and everyone excluding Cassandra went to sleep. Solas and Miriel shared a tent, not caring to keep up a pointless rouse that they weren’t together. Solas held her tightly, pressing his body into hers as she drifted off into the Fade.

Miriel dreamed by herself for about an hour before she recalled a comment Solas had made earlier in the day about how the Dales would have been a sight to see. He had proven himself to be quite proficient at recreating the past from Fade memories. She suddenly felt giddy at the idea of seeing the old Dales, the civilization that seemed to call to her, even in her waking hours.

Miriel opened up her left palm and stared at the green light spilling from the Anchor. It even seemed invigorated by this place. Smiling, Miriel closed her eyes and allowed the Anchor to flare to life, leading her into Solas’s dream. When she opened her eyes she grew breathless at the beauty surrounding her.

Buildings were built into gigantic trees, spires of stone arched up in between the trees. Crystals wrapped around the trees, glittering and bright. Large wooden supports for the buildings sprouted from the ground. Halla ran freely, darting happily between the supports. She didn’t see any roads or – oh…oh Creators. Miriel looked up, her breath catching in her throat in amazement as she saw the highway of bridges and tethers above. The wispy memories of elves ran about them. She spun in wonder, taking in as much as possible. She forgot about Solas as she began to climb a tree, eager to explore this wonderland of elves, safety…and home.

When Miriel reached the top of the tree, she climbed onto a wooden landing that lead to two shops. One shop was dedicated to baby clothes and the other to clothing specifically designed for women expecting a baby. Pregnant women bustled about, their spouses, lovers, and others waited around as they inspected the clothes. A baby in the baby clothing store looked directly at Miriel and giggled, grabbing its feet.

“Ooooh,” Miriel cooed just as a man _walked_ _through her_ to the baby. He picked the babe up and spun around, kissing his child as he hugged her to him. Miriel touched her chest in sentiment as she watched the scene.

“You like children?” Solas asked and Miriel whipped around to see him standing with his hands behind his back behind her. She smiled and touched his chest.

“Of course, they’re wonderful,” she said playfully. His expression shifted to serious curiosity.

“Do you want children of your own?” He asked and she thought about that for a moment. She had never given it much thought, though in the clan having children would have been an expected thing. She would be a mother, there was no question; no one had ever actually asked her if that’s what she wanted. Miriel looked at the happy babe in her father’s arms and imagined her child, the father twirling them about…she saw Solas, grinning broadly as he held their child and her heart clenched at the image.

“Yes, I think I do,” She said, biting her lip and pressing her hands to his chest. _I want_ your _babies,_ is what she really wanted to say but resisted.

“We can discuss this at another time, for now let us explore the memories, yes?” He shifted the attention away from reproduction, at least, he believed so. She allowed the sudden shift because she knew it really wasn’t time for that particular conversation. _One day, Solas, one day,_ she promised to herself. 

Solas took her hand and they began to explore the surrounding area, but the idea of children would not leave Miriel. The idea was so stuck that she began to think of what Solas and her children would look like. Would they have his soft blue eyes, or her bright gold ones? Would they be little redheads or blondes? Would they have his amazing cheekbones? His full lips? His laugh? Freckles? She hoped at least one of them would be a mage so he could have a little protégé to teach. Wait. There was more than one? _Yes._

“Vhenan, you are warping the memory,” Solas’s voice tugged her out of her dream…dream. Freaky. She blinked and found that there shimmering ideas lining the walkways, small children dotting their path, not wispy like the memories but glowing amorphous beings that would shift their appearance every now and then.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, blushing fiercely. Solas turned to her and kissed her hard and fast.

“Don’t be,” he said then leaned his forehead against hers in a brief show of affection. She hummed her approval and then they were on the move again. Miriel looked around her, the light filtering in through the leaves like it had during the day, but now it illuminated the large stone structures that were the main buildings for this area. The wooden structures must have been just outlet structures while the stone ones were the actual places of wonder. A staircase wound its way around a tree trunk, leading to a large square with a fountain in the middle. A temple to Ghilan’nain was the largest structure in the area, the stones all polished to shine in the beautiful diffused light. Memories of people bustled through the square, walking through Solas and Miriel, not knowing they were no more than echoes of a long lost civilization.

The square was comprised of gold and emerald mosaic tiles. The emerald tiles swirled in a pattern of vines and leaves throughout the gold, their center seeming to be the large fountain. The fountain was covered in polished white stone, its water was clear, inviting. Miriel allowed herself to be taken by the memory, her garb suddenly changing from her nightly leggings and night shirt to a floor length, long sleeved red dress with two slits that went all the way up to her hips. Her feet were completely bare but she wore gold anklets. Her hair was loose, long and flowing, and luckily still shaved on the sides. She walked to the fountain and dipped a hand in. The water was cool and she found herself leaning over the edge to be closer to it.

Slap! Miriel whipped around, wide-eyed to see smirking Solas. He closed her in against the fountain, a hand, potentially the one that slapped her ass, fell down and gripped her still aching cheek.

“Solas!” She gasped, more in arousal than pain. Her hands gripped the edge of the fountain as she leaned back, arching her back so that he caught the barest hint of cleavage.

“Vhenan,” he replied as he dipped his head to plant a kiss at the hollow of her neck. She bit her lip, enjoying this rare, playful Solas. Miriel smiled deviously, she wanted to play too. She brought her leg up, rubbing her inner thigh against his hip, wrapping her calf and foot around his leg. She arched into him and he growled his approval.

“I love it when you get like this,” she purred…right before she launched herself forward, spinning herself and Solas so that she was now on the outside pressing Solas up against the fountain. Solas’s eyes seemed to flash a brighter blue, but that must have been a trick of the Fade or magic or…something. Miriel pressed herself up against him, planting an open mouthed kiss against his throat. Her hands ran up his torso, feeling him through his tunic.

“Do you have any idea how sexy you are?” She whispered in his ear, licking the shell. His hand found her ass once again, squeezing in approval.

“As you are tempting?” He responded, his voice hoarse with arousal. Miriel gave a short, low laugh.

“You are so sweet…catch me!” She said before she took off through the memories. She ran down an alleyway, its tiles turning from motifs of vines to that of moons and wolves. The stone buildings were close but not close enough to stop her from sprinting through the alley. She listened for a moment to make sure Solas following, grinning when she heard his quickened footsteps. He had taken the bait.

She ran for about a minute and dipped into a building that she thought looked interesting. The memory shifted from midday to midnight, a full moon’s light streaming into the building. She ran through the first chamber, to the second, the third, until she found the main chamber. It was a large circular room that was completely illuminated with the moonlight. Miriel looked up to see that the ceiling was made up of large gold panels that seemed to be moveable by some contraption. Currently the panels were arranged so that they were open allowing the moon to shine brightly into the room.

Miriel’s chest heaved as she gazed at the beauty of the room, indulging in it…until she saw the wolf motifs and carvings throughout the space.

When Solas entered the room, most of Miriel’s playfulness had gone and was instead replaced with an uneasy feeling.

“This…this was a temple to the Dread Wolf,” she said, still eyeing a particular gruesome carving on the far side of the room.

“Not exactly, a temple would imply worship took place here. Any worship to the Dread Wolf would require an honorific to pray to, there is none here. The murals are simply motifs, not actual religious idols. This structure is simple homage to the god that no one wanted,” Solas said, his tone distant and bitter.

“So the Dread Wolf wouldn’t actually come here?” She asked, needing reassurance. She was already feeling a resurgence of her earlier playfulness.

“It is very unlikely,” Solas replied, his expression suddenly more solemn than Miriel cared for. Well, that just wouldn’t do. She smiled mischievously and fluttered her eyes at him as she bit her lip.

“Oh but what if he did?” She asked, stalking slowly to him.

“What of it?” Solas replied and she rolled her eyes.

“Would he expect a…sacrifice?” She played at, her smile returning in full force. Still Solas appeared confused.

“I suppose under the right conditions, Fen’Harel would appreciate a gift…where are you going with this?” She finally had reached him and leaned in close to his ear.

“Just go with it,” she whispered before she quickly walked away, moving to the other end of the room. She spun towards him, her eyes going wide in mock shock.

“Oh! You’re here!” She gasped. Solas’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“I didn’t leave…”

“Oh Fen’Harel! I didn’t expect you so soon!” She exclaimed, fake fixing her hair then slowly smoothing over her dress.

“Fen’Harel? Miriel, what are you on about?” He really wasn’t getting it. For such a smart man, Solas could really be so dense sometimes.

“Miriel? Who is she? I am…Ellana, your virginal sacrifice, _Fen’Harel,_ ” maybe now that she had explained their roles he would play along. His eyes did that weird flashing thing again and he took a step forward, then he shook his head as if thinking better of it.

“You are from virginal, vhenan.”

“Do you not like me? Am I not…sufficient for you?” She asked as she began to pull the dress off her shoulders.

“You know very well that you…are…sufficient,” he said beginning to sound like he was distracted as he watched her shimmy out of her dress. Her breast band was next, and that she just willed to rip off, freeing her breasts in a rather vulgar bouncing display.

“Just sufficient?” She whimpered as she cupped her breasts. She tweaked one of her nipples and moaned.

“Please, Fen’Harel,” she begged and then something obviously snapped in Solas. He strode across the room, about to grab her when she turned her back to him.

“Do you like me, Dread Wolf?” She asked as he wrenched her to his chest. He took her jaw in a firm hand, turning her bright gaze to his ravenous one.

“Tonight, I am the Great Wolf,” he growled before he kissed her, grinding his burgeoning erection against her backside.

“As you will, Great Wolf,” she groaned as he moved from her mouth to her ear. He growled once more.

Solas sucked erotically on her ear, eliciting a long moan from Miriel.

“Ma serannas,” she moaned and he groaned in reply. Miriel thought he was going to start groping her when he backed off. She was about to protest when he drove her forward so that she was bracing her hands against the far wall.

“Spread your legs, ma asha,” he growled. She did as he commanded, taking one step then two. She arched her back so that her butt stuck out provocatively. Solas growled his approval, running a hand across her backside before drawing her smalls down her legs. She lifted her feet accordingly, then he flung the apparently offensive garment away. He rose only enough to stop at her ass. She prepared for another slap but instead he bit her soft flesh…right where the paw print was.

“I see you have been promised to me for some time,” he said and she moaned as he licked the sting of her bite away.

“Yes, I am only for you, only ever for you,” she moaned as he once again slapped her ass.

“And who am I, ma asha?” He growled as he shot to his feet, leaning in close to her ear.

“Fen’Harel, the Dread,” another slap. She gasped out her pleasure, needing to squeeze her legs together.

“The _Great_ Wolf,” she said and her correct answer earned her a squeeze.

“Good girl,” Solas growled and she heard the rustle of clothing. She resisted the urge to turn her head to see, knowing he wanted her to stay how she was.

“Master?” She asked in a small, plaintive voice. There was no answer, simply hands that urged her legs to spread even wider. She heard him shift, get down on his knees. Then she saw his head emerge from between her legs. His eyes, now an intense blue met hers with a burning intensity. She saw that he had removed his shirt and potentially his pants.

“Do you need me here, ma asha?” He asked, palming her sex. She moaned and ground into his hand. At her movements, Solas removed his hand.

“No,” he chastised then smiled deviously as he then dipped down to bury his face in her sex. She gasped, needing to press down on him as he lightly tongued her outer folds. But as soon as she pressed down, he stopped.

“Please!” She begged, needing him to touch her. He drew a lazy finger up her sex, only grazing her clit.

“If you insist,” he said before returning his mouth to her aching core. His tongue first probed her opening, then drew the wetness up to her clit. His tongue pressed against her sensitive nub and she moaned, instinctively pressing down. Solas was gone in a split second, drawing up, pulling her hair and head back as he snarled at her.

“No more of that, asha,” he said before he dropped back down. His lips sealed over clit and she screamed in pleasure as he sucked. She panted as he licked, sucked, probed her with his mouth.

“Yes! Ma’sa’lath, yes, oh!” She moaned only to have her ass suddenly smacked.

“ _Who am I?_ ” Solas asked and she panted as he removed himself once more from her sex.

“Fen-Fen’Harel, the Great Wolf,” she answered and he caressed her still stinging rear.

“Such a pretty answer…and such a pretty,” he didn’t finish his sentiment verbally, instead he licked her core then inserted a finger, probing her depths. He brought his mouth up to graze his teeth against her clit.

“S-Fen’Harel!” She shouted, needing to press down against him, somehow resisting. It was so much, too much, and yet she needed more. Her legs were trembling, her sheath beginning to seize around his finger. More, more! She almost sobbed when he added another finger, thrusting into her. He curved his fingers inside, touching her just right as he sucked on her clit once more. She screamed, so borderline. He must have sensed this because he added a third finger, deliciously stretching her. He thrust up just as he drew quick circles around her clit. As he curved those fingers again he flattened his tongue against her nub and rubbed.

Miriel screamed as she convulsed around his fingers and mouth, unable to grind against him as the spams took over her body. He continued to lave attention upon her, still thrusting his fingers, prolonging her orgasm. She chanted his name over and over again, the pretense of role playing falling by the wayside as she proclaimed her love for him repeatedly. Her head HEr legs just about gave out and she felt tears on her cheeks.

_Hot fucking damn._

Solas grabbed her hips, supporting her when her legs couldn’t. He spun her around so that her back was pressed up against the wall. He set her down and made to remove his pants. _Should’ve done that earlier,_ she thought distantly as her hunger began to return in earnest.

“Can’t wait any longer, need to be in you,” Solas groaned as he pulled his leggings down his legs. He stepped out of the garment, his erection bobbing enticingly. Already she could see precum beading at the tip. She groaned in anticipation.

“Yes, please,” she gasped as he approached her, grabbing his cock, positioning it to enter her. He kissed her long and passionately just resting his cock against her entrance.

“Ar lath-

“WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!” The Iron Bull shouted into Miriel and Solas’s tent. The two elves woke in a bed roll covered in sweat, Solas’s cock still hard and pressing eagerly into Miriel’s backside. Miriel didn’t even think twice, launching herself out of bed, grabbing her bow and arrows to join the fray. Behind her, Solas tried to be as quick, but the fog of lust still clouded his mind, even as he entered the battle against the cock-blocking Red Templars.

**

The Red Templars had attacked close to dawn so the group decided to have an early breakfast then get an early start on the day. Solas had disappeared after he had wolfed down his food. Miriel had a suspicion on what he was doing and she wanted desperately to go find him and help him with it…maybe pick up after where their dream had been so rudely interrupted. Once more Miriel glared at the Red Templar corpses, cursing them and their horrible timing.

She ate her food, still feeling the arousal coiled in her abdomen. Who knew that all it took to get Solas to put out was calling him Fen’Harel? _We all have our kinks…like apparently I get off on spanking._ Yeah, that was new. But Solas’s raw sensuality and ease in being control was just so…alluring. She wanted to fall into him, let him ride her into an oblivion of pleasure and love. But mostly pleasure because damn, that man knew what he was doing. Just thinking about that sinful mouth of his had her crossing her legs for needed pressure.

Solas eventually returned but he refused to look at Miriel, which hurt. She knew that he wasn’t the most forthcoming about his sexuality and sensuality, that he liked keeping it private, but it still bothered her that he made a conscious effort to deny it around her. Even when they were alone he would pretend that he wasn’t getting an erection or play it off that no, he hadn’t just eyed her bare naked ass as she changed in front of him. They had almost had sex, erm, Fade sex at least. It was about time he was honest to himself about his physical desire for her.

He was in their tent, packing his bag when she walked in.

“Solas, we need to talk,” she began then frowned. Shit, she started with a break up line. Solas froze, still staring at his pack.

“Why won’t you even look at me? Intimacy is nothing to be ashamed of. I love you, you love me, there is nothing wrong with how you feel about me, romantically and physically,” she said, about to bend down when he stood and whirled around so that he was suddenly in her space. His eyes had the heated intensity from the dream and she found her breath hitching.

“I know. But if I look at you right now, allow myself to think about…I will have no thoughts of propriety or decency as I throw you to the ground, or press you up against a tree and take you, and I wouldn’t care if you were ready. So vhenan, please, just let me…work through it,” flickers of fear shot through her. Thrown to the ground. Him not caring…oh. Her face softened as she realized that even in his…state, he was thinking of her and her experience and Creators she loved him.

“Fine, but we will talk about it…and kiss about it, maybe some heavy petting and-

“Vhenan!”

“Alright, alright, I’m going.” She said, but she put in a little butt wiggle as she walked out. She heard him groan then a let loose a string of old Elvhen curses. Miriel couldn’t help the smile as she began to help the others pack up camp.

**

Elodie and Cullen made it to Val Rayoux in record time. It was a good thing too because they arrived on the day of Mornay’s execution. She pushed through the crowd, trying to see Blackwall (she had gotten a description and a sketch from Leliana’s people). She looked for the bearded man but she couldn’t see through the throngs of people. Cullen also had no success.

“Cyril Mornay, for your crimes against the Empire of Orlais…for the murders of General Vincent Callier, Lady Lorette Callier, their four children, and their retainers…you are sentenced to be hanged by the neck until dead. Do you have anything to say in your defense?” The crier began. Mornay sat on his knees, looking dejected, resigned to his fate. He was dying for his commander, a horrible fate, but what did this have to do with Blackwall?

Oh…oh no.

As a Warden, Elodie knew about their ranks, how they were comprised of all sorts of people, from nobles to thieves to…murders and betrayers. Like the Dwarven Legion of the Dead, the Wardens believed that dedicating your life to fighting the Blight was a noble death, a sort of penitence for any wrongs committed in their life. Elodie could guess what Blackwall had done.

“Very well,” the crier said after Cyril offered no defense. Elodie closed her eyes, willing Blackwall to appear. The idea was that becoming part of the Wardens cleaned you of past sins did not work for the perpetuation of those sins in Elodie’s mind. If Blackwall allowed this to happen…he would be a criminal once more.

The executioner looped the rope around Cyril’s neck, then stepped away.

“Proceed,” the crier said. The executioner approached the lever that would open the trapdoor beneath Cyril’s feet.

“Stop!” A man shouted from the crowd. Everyone looked over to the stairs to the platform. A gruff, sturdy, bearded man began to walk up the steps. Miraculously the executioner had in fact stopped and was watching the man as curiously as everyone else. It was Blackwall. Elodie sighed in relief, until she realized that the man climbing those steps was no Grey Warden. She felt no pull of the taint, that dark tether damningly absent. Blackwall wasn’t a Grey Warden, or at least _this_ Blackwall was not a Wawrden. Elodie had known of a different Blackwall from reports from Weisshaupt and had figured that that Blackwall and this one were one in the same…but apparently not. _What is going on?_

“A Grey Warden,” the crier announced. The crowd gasped except for Elodie and Cullen who stared in fascinated horror.

“This man is innocent of the crimes laid before him.” Black began, “Orders were given, and he followed them like any good soldier. He should not die for that mistake!”

“Then find me the man who gave the order!” The crier demanded. Blackwall paused, pain etched into his face. He took a deep breath and did what any true Grey Warden would do.

“Blackwall!” Cullen cried, before Elodie could stop him. Blackwall shook his head.

“No. I am not Blackwall, I was never was Blackwall. Warden Blackwall is dead, and has been for years. I assumed his name to hide, like a coward, from who I really am.” Cyril’s eyes finally lit up, recognizing Blackwall.

“You, after all this time…” Cyril said in shock.

“It’s over, I’m done hiding. I gave the order, the crime is mine. I am Thom Rainier.” The crowd along with Cullen gasped. Elodie closed her eyes and sighed. This was not good.

The crier and the executioner let Cyril loose, then they escorted Blackwall, or rather, Thom Rainier, off the platform and through the crowd to prison.

By the Maker, this was bad. If he had truly been a Warden, Elodie could have levered her status to get him out and his men out of this, but not a drop of the taint ran through Blackwall and he had just admitted his fraudulent status. Elodie was not going to be the one to bust him out of jail that was for sure. She rain a hand through her now wet hair and looked at a confused Cullen.

“I was not expecting this,” Cullen whispered and Elodie nodded.

“Yeah, me neither. We need to go speak with him about this,” she said, about to head off in the direction of the prison. Cullen grabbed her arm, his face confused.

“Why? The man is a criminal and justice should be served. He abandoned his men, allowed them to take the fall for his actions, then he impersonated one of _your_ people!” Cullen tossed out the accusations easily, and Elodie expected as such. He was a Templar, a man of justice, right and wrong were easy for him, but Elodie had been in the hero business too long to believe in such black and white concepts. They were the _Grey_ Wardens for a reason.

“I need to hear his story, and the Inquisitor will want it as well. He has honor left, he _wants_ to do the right thing, just look what he did today. He could have kept his mouth shut, but he didn’t, that has to count for something.” She said and Cullen sighed, but he let go of her arm.

“Very well, but I don’t like this,” Cullen groused and Elodie smiled sadly at him.

“You never do,” it wasn’t a reprisal or rebuke but a simple sad commentary on the last couple times she had seen him. Cullen’s eyes widened and looked away.

“I-I should apologize,” he said and she shook her head.

“Now is not the time, we can discuss it when we get to Skyhold,” then she was back to walking to the prison, ready to confront Thom Rainier.

**

It was less of a prison and more like a temporary holding facility on the edges of the Market District. Nevertheless it was a dreary place with water stained stone walls and a sour looking guard who eyed Elodie and Cullen suspiciously when they asked to see the infamous Thom Rainier.

The guard granted Elodie access since Cullen was in no position to be empathetic or kind to someone he believed to be a murderous liar. Elodie followed the guard further into the facility, noting that they had placed Thom in what appeared to be the smelliest, dingiest cell. Lovely.

“Can we be alone? I won’t try anything, I promise,” she said to the guard, giving him her best bullshit court smile. As per usual, it worked and she was at last alone with Thom Rainier. There was a moment of silence. The man didn’t look up and Elodie didn’t press him for answers, she simply stood there with a blank expression on her face, knowing that he would talk soon enough.

“I didn’t take Blackwall’s life. I traded his death,” the man began, “He wanted me for the Wardens, but there was an ambush. Darkspawn. He was killed.” Elodie closed her eyes, reciting the Warden’s oath in Blackwall’s name in her head. Another Warden hadn’t done it yet, and it was only right that she did so now.

“I took his name to stop the world from losing a good man. But a good man, the man _he_ was, wouldn’t have let another die in his place.” He was already resigned to his fate it seemed, but Elodie didn’t like it.

“The good man that _you_ are didn’t allow it either,” she said, and that riled him up. Thom stood up and was at the bars to his cell, dark eyes filled fury and guilt.

“Don’t you understand? I gave the order to kill Lord Callier, his entourage, and I lied to my men about what they were doing! When it came to light, I ran. Those men, my men, paid for my treason while I pretending to be a better man!” Maker. Cullen was right, Thom _was_ a murderous traitor…but the man before her, the man who had tried to be better, _was_ better. There was no pretending about it. He had grown, had owned his sin. It did not lessen the issue or the crime, but it meant something.

“ _This_ is what I am! A murderer. A traitor…a monster.” As if unable to handle his weight, he slid down to the ground, guilt coloring his every action. Elodie sighed then sat down on the other side of the bars.

“A monster would have let Mornay die today. A monster would not have helped Ferelden refugees or assumed a Grey Warden’s life, of all lives to assume. You are a murderer. You are a traitor. But you are also a _good man_. Others may disagree, but listen, no person is without sin, no person is without guilt. Yours is a heavier burden than most, but you have borne it. You have taken the weight of your actions seriously. And for that, I believe you are a good man worth saving.”

“I did it for money.”

“You can try and convince me all you want, but the truth of the matter is that you saved a life today, and by joining the Inquisition you have saved hundreds more. How many demons have you slain beside the Inquisitor? How many Darkspawn have tasted your blade? How many people are alive because of those actions? The Wardens don’t just accept criminals. They accept people who can be redeemed. Through the…Joining and the dedication, we are redeemed. You merely skipped the Joining, which I can impose upon you if no one else sees reason.” She said and his head turned.

“What?” He asked in an odd tone.

“I will recruit you if no one else does anything, mark my words _Blackwall_ , I haven’t seen the last of you.” And with that she left him to think about who exactly he was…and to talk to Cullen about the next step was.

She emerged from the lower cells to find Cullen reading a report. Leliana’s people must have worked quickly to get this information here so fast…or Leliana knew all along.

“What’s it say?” She asked and he sighed.

“It looks like our friend was once a respected Captain in the Imperial Orlesian Army. Before the Civil War, he was turned, persuaded to assassinate one of Celene’s biggest supporters. He led a group of fiercely loyal men on this mission, and told them nothing of it. His men took the fall for him. A few lucky ones, like Mornay, managed to escape.” Elodie nodded. The stories matched up unfortunately.

“Let me guess, Leliana just had this lying about somewhere?”

“It would have been difficult for anyone to connect Blackwall to Rainier.” Cullen said and Elodie shook her head.

“Leliana isn’t anyone and she has experience with the whole ‘I am making a secret new life’ thing. She would have seen the signs.”

“What do we do now?” Cullen asked.

“We get back to Skyhold and figure a way out to bust him out before his execution date, worse comes to worse, I will actually recruit him into the Wardens. I would rather not, however, I have feeling he would serve better in the Inquisition.” Cullen wrinkled his nose in distaste at that but Elodie shrugged him off.

“The Inquisitor needs to decide on this. In the meantime, stall the execution.” Cullen nodded. They headed back to Skyhold that very day, hoping to not lose any time. It kind of sucked that they only got to spend a couple of hours in Val Rayoux after days on the horse, but that was the life of a hero – it consisted of saving people and sore bums.

Cullen fetched dinner that night while Elodie set up camp and got the fire going (yay magic). She was delighted to see that he no longer flinched at her open use of her talents. She was glad he was healing from his ordeal at the Ferelden Circle Tower. They ate their meal in silence…until Cullen spoke up.

“I need to apologize,” he said. Ah, this.

“All right.”

“I…I was awful to you and all of the mages at the Circle Tower after Uldred. I should have been more understanding that the mages who hadn’t turned had also gone through an ordeal. I tried to kill them. I was harsh on the mages in Kirkwall, blind to Meredith, and worst of all…I was horrible to you. I should never have said those things or doubted you or-

“Stop! Alright, first of all, you were tortured for days on end by insane abominations. You had every right to be angry and hate mages. Most people who hate mages don’t have a reason, _you_ have a pretty good reason. As for trying to kill them, thank you for the apology, that one was necessary. Kirkwall was a mess, I think there were only two sane people in that city – Varric and Hawke, which should tell you all you need to know about the state of that city. And finally, as for being awful to me…Cullen, I forgive you. You shouldn’t have said those things, I wasn’t the one who hurt you after all, but again, you had every right to be angry. I was a mage. I was also your first love-

“Uh, I, um-

“Of course I knew, don’t make a bigger deal out of it than it is. I was these two conflicting images in your mind and you had no rational way of dealing with that because once again, _you were tortured._ Stop apologizing for someone else’s evil. It wasn’t your fault. The Circle wasn’t annulled. The mages weren’t murdered, and I am fine.” She had not planned on giving him a speech but ten years later and the man still needed it. Cullen looked at her, bewildered for a second then he burst out laughing. It was Elodie’s turn to be bewildered as she watched the former Templar laugh freely for the first time she had seen him in…ten years. _Maker, I’m old._

“You were always so nice but then you would come in like this sledgehammer, but in this wonderfully nice way. It’s good to see that you’re still like that, the court must love you,” he finally said and she smiled.

“Yeah, they hate it but it has been great for Ferelden.” They laughed for a moment then Cullen sighed.

“You’re right, it is time that I stop blaming myself. Maker, it was a long time ago.” He looked up at the stars in the sky, his face slowly relaxing as years of guilt seemed to roll away.

“Yes, but the really awful things always seem like they were yesterday, just remember that even if it was yesterday…it’s still in the past and you are walking away from it.” She said and he turned his gaze to her.

“When did you get so wise?” He asked playfully and she shrugged.

“The Blight? Seeing my home turned into a cesspool of abominations and blood mages? Learning that mercy is harder than vengeance?” She asked and his face turned horrified.

“Oh Maker, I totally forgot it was your home, your actual home…I was just assigned there, but you…you grew up there.” And once again, Cullen was horrified and guilt ridden. She rolled her eyes.

“Stop it, once again, not your fault. And it had stopped being home when I left to become a Grey Warden. I have a new home.” She said wistfully, then looked in his eyes, “and so do you.”

“The Inquisition…we have a chance to really do some good,” he sounded so convinced of the good, and she knew that he had finally found where he needed to be.

“You do! And you have. Also…who is that _adorable_ little mage girl who keeps visiting you at Skyhold?” She asked and he looked at her, a blush coloring his face so close to Alistair that she had a pang of nostalgia.

“I, uh, well, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he blushed even harder once he realized what he said.

“Don’t get coy with me, mister. After she has been in your presence you actually smile. So who is she?” She pressed and he sighed, rubbing his neck. His old tell hadn’t gone away and she found that wonderful.

“Her name is Olivia Tremaine and she has been aiding me in integrating the battle trained mages into Inquisition ranks.” He began.

“And? That’s it?”

“Well, she brought me lunch the other day, it was actually for both of us. She sat on my desk,” as he spoke a wistful smile spread across his face. _Oh yeah, totally smitten._

“Sounds like a lovely lunch date,” Elodie said, smiling happily.

“Oh, it wasn’t…was it really a lunch date? Oh Maker, I talked about Trebuchets and troop movements the entire time!”

“Relax, Cullen, was she smiling at the end?”

“I…I think so, yes.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.” She reassured the nervous former Templar, finding how odd and amazing it was how much could change, yet remain the same. Here Cullen was, once more falling for a mage, someone he had never thought he would be with, yet…it was reassuring to see that part of him hadn’t been bastardized by all of the tragedy he had seen in his young life. There were a couple more lines around his eyes that wouldn’t normally be there and there was a certain age to his eyes that could not be denied, but then again, the same could be said for her.

“You would think I would be better at this by now,” he laughed nervously and she shrugged.

“You’ve been preoccupied. I hear Kirkwall was a mess.”

“That is the understatement of the age.”

“Then stop beating yourself up about it.” She told him and he sighed.

“I will try,” he finally conceded. With that victory, Elodie stood and stretched.

“I think I am going to hit the hay if you don’t mind taking first watch,” she said and he waved her off.

“Go sleep,” he poked at the fire then looked back up, “and Elodie? Thank you…for everything,” he was so sincere and lovely. Really, any woman would be lucky to be with him. _Olivia, you better be good to him, he’s been through enough. Maker, please let this man have some happiness._

“You’re welcome. And Cullen? You’re a good man.” And with that, Elodie went into her tent and slept. She dreamed of Alistair and how she couldn’t wait to be in his arms once more.

**

“Solas…can we talk about what happened in the dream now?” Miriel asked. They had had a long day chasing down Red Templars and Freemen and had decided to spend the night at Argon’s Lodge with Fairbanks and the refugees. Solas had wandered form the main group of people as expected, setting up his bedroll by the large statue of Fen’Harel. Miriel had allowed him his space all day and even around dinner, but now she was determined to talk to him about this.

“Yes, I suppose we should,” he said quietly, his back turned to her, head hung low. She stepped closer to him, placing a kind hand on his back.

“I never expected to find someone like you,” he began.

“I never thought I would find you either,” Miriel murmured.

“So imagine my surprise when not only did I find you, but that I began to feel things I have not felt for so long.” His voice was soft and he continued to not look at her. Her lingering frustration dissipated and she leaned down, resting a hand on his back.

“I understand. Being physically intimate with someone has always been difficult, so wanting you this much…it is confusing and difficult,” she said. She remembered wanting Dhavon but that desire had been very different, tainted with the lingering effects of the assault. Her desire for Solas was completely her choice and it was her choice in pursuing it.

“Yes! Precisely, I am relieved you understand, vhenan,” he then turned to her, smiling. _He is so beautiful when he smiles,_ she thought as she returned the smile.

“Is that all it is? You are unsure of how physical we can and should be?” She asked.

“Partially. After Adamant, I was, am, unsure of how to be with you physically. I do not wish to cause you any pain, especially with this,” he continued to explain. Miriel sighed and moved to sit down on the small ledge of the wolf statue. Of course he would bring up Adamant and the…Nightmare. It was true that they hadn’t really talked about what had happened to her, he didn’t push and she didn’t really want to talk about it. But it needed to be talked about, the wound needed to be lanced in order for it to heal correctly.

“Before Adamant, before Skyhold, I told you that I had been in a relationship with another of the clan, Dhavon.” She said and he nodded.

“Yes, you were to be married to him but your sister thwarted his attempts by refusing his gifts.”

“Yes…and no. I suppose the demon took a good portion of my memory because that isn’t the full story.” She took a deep breath and spoke softly.

“After the raid, Dhavon protected me. He sheltered me from the questions of the Keeper, from Rana, from… everyone. He had seen me so brought down and had reacted as his training as a defender would. He brought up a shield around me, blocking anything from harming me…but by doing so, he blocked me from exploring and working through my fears and experiences the way I needed to. I clung to him and began to feel immense affection for him. He returned the sentiments, though I don’t know if it was a romantic love we felt for each other. He felt obligated, I felt like I needed to be protected. When I told him I wanted to have sex, he was shocked. I told him that the only way I could truly love him was if I knew that he wouldn’t hurt me like the shem had. It was a terrible thing to say, a terrible reason to have sex, and I regret doing it. But we laid together. He didn’t hurt me, and I told him I loved him. The next day, he proposed. His honor would demand nothing less of him. I was twenty-one, so six years after the raid, and I said yes to his proposal.

“What I hadn’t expected to happen was to suddenly feel…powerful. In the time between the raid and the proposal, I had become the most successful hunter in the clan. I could shoot anything with deadly precision. After having sex and realizing that I could be in control and not get hurt…it was like I was finally breaking through the walls I built up around myself so I wouldn’t get hurt in the world. I then realized I was terribly curious about all of the things I had missed out because of my fear.

“I began to sneak out on the nights when I wasn’t guarding. At first, I simply wandered the forests or the fields, but as time went on, I grew bolder. I went into human villages unaccompanied, watched the humans at first from afar, then I began to barter with the merchants. They weren’t like the man who had hurt me, and I realized that not all humans were like that man.

“Dhavon found out, however, and freaked out. He shouted at me, more scared for me than actually angry, but all I could see and hear was that he was trying to stifle and control me. I lashed out. But he just told the Keeper of my dangerous activities. The clan began to watch me and keep me close. Even my hunting partner, Dinas, didn’t let me out of his sight. I was slowly being suffocated.

“Rana could tell, so she would somehow find ways to get me alone time, especially time away from Dhavon. I would lounge in the trees with a book or just run through the forests when I was able. I just wanted to feel free. Free from Dhavon’s control and free from the fear that had plagued me for six years. Rana refused his gifts because she wanted to give me that freedom, or rather, allow me to have it. She was the one who suggested I do the offering to Fen’Harel. She told me that I would be left alone for hours at a time, and that pretty much sealed the deal for me. Then…everything else happened. Dhavon broke off the engagement, I left…I found you,” during her entire story, Solas sat still, listening patiently. His face remained largely impassive but oddly sympathetic, encouraging her to continue.

“I am telling you this because you have always honored my choices, my freedom. Never have you imposed your will over mine, and you never will – I know this. I trust you, Solas, and in some ways that is more important than love. I loved Dhavon, but he abused the power he had over me, even if he didn’t mean to. So whatever physical interaction we have…I am making a choice. I made a choice to allow you to be that way in the dream, I could have stopped you, and you would have honored that choice. You would _never_ question it, and that…that means so much to me. And if you had said no, if you ever say no…I will honor that choice, not just because I love you, but because I respect you and your right to choose. So if you don’t want to be physically intimate…very well, I respect that,” she finished. It was a long story, and one that she had been trying to work through herself ever since Adamant. It felt good to verbalize it, to talk about it with Solas. He had essentially been put in the same position as Dhavon, and he had reacted very differently. Granted, she was older and wiser now, more inherently independent, but Solas’s reaction was still vastly preferable to Dhavon’s.

Solas took a minute to digest the speech. A pause that Miriel understood. She had just slammed him with a bunch of stuff about one of the, if not the, most traumatic experiences of her life. She couldn’t imagine hearing about your lover’s previous lover had been less than appropriately emotionally supportive. Finally Solas turned to her, eyes soft and glittering as if they held unshed tears.

“Thank you for sharing that with me, I imagine it must be difficult to discuss,” his hand cupped her face and she leaned into his touch, not breaking eye contact with him. “As for the rest, I thank you and know that I do not deserve such a kind, wise, compassionate woman as yourself. For once, I am at a loss for words.” He leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes shut at the intensity of emotion coursing through him.

“I believe I can be the judge of who is worthy of my time, love, and respect, sa’lath. And you definitely are,” she pressed gently back against his forehead. “You are a good man, Solas, and I love you.”

“As I love you, vhenan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please comment, leaves kudos, etc. <3


	33. Vhenan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miriel expresses her Dalish heritage in an unexpected way and Solas responds unexpectedly. NSFW

It was unfortunate, Solas thought, that such a beautiful area was filled with such violent and sorrowful history. The way the sun bled through the canopy of leaves above them, the way the main river broke off into trickling streams, a constant rhythm behind scurrying nugs and rams – it was all so beautiful and seemingly peaceful. But there was danger everywhere, from the Freemen of the Dales to rifts to oversized bears. Miriel seemed to enjoy the forest, though, despite the anger that roiled within her towards the men who cried that the Dales would belong to them.

“Shemlen, get the fuck out of my home! Yeah, you, _bitch_ , Dread Wolf take you lot, I am sending you to your Maker!” She had shouted once at some particularly vocal members of the Freemen before unleashing a maelstrom of arrows upon them. Solas understood her rage and indignation at these people and he knew she somewhat expected him to feel the same way, but he couldn’t. The Dales had been no Elvhenan, there had been no Arlathan, only Halamshiral, which was now so polluted with overly decorative Orlesian villas that there was practically nothing left of what the elves had built. There had been an attempt to create a home…and it had failed. Solas understood the longing for a home that was no longer there, and he would be as sympathetic as he could, but watching rain death upon these men, he quickly realized that she was dealing with her indignation in a very different way than he would have.

She would cry out insult after insult as she killed them, Common curses inlaid with broken elven. Despite her rage towards the Freemen, she never looked at Fairbanks and his refugees with malice or anger. She was kind to them even, saving them, protecting them. It surprised him how she could be so vindictive and ruthless with the humans, calling them every insult in Elven for human she knew, while being kind and generous to other humans. He knew that by this point nothing about her should surprise him, but this did. She was as merciful as she was ruthless with those she deemed evil and wrong.

“Miriel?” He asked and she was suddenly before him, dangling upside down from a nearby tree.

“Yes, ma sa’lath?” She asked, her Elven accent nigh perfect, an amazing improvement from the first time he met her and she could barely get out a sentence without Solas flinching.

“You are quite…expressive against these Freemen,” he began and she shrugged, a comical gesture in her current upside down position.

“Just speaking the truth, they prey upon the weak and proclaim the Dales as theirs, and they are wrong,” she said simply.

“Yes, I understand that. What I do not understand is how you are then kind to the refugees.”

“Should I not be kind to them?”

“Of course, but you disparage the humans so readily here yet help the refugees,” he explained and she nodded.

“The refugees are like the Dalish – they never asked for this, never wanted this, and now they are just trying to survive as strange people take them, kill them, and then those strange people are the ones who call _them_ monsters. The Freemen are _shemlen_ , the refugees are human. There is a difference,” she said simply then disappeared back into the trees.

They sojourned deeper into the forest until they came across a large ruin. It was old and filled with death by what Solas could tell. An old tomb, but a place full of regret and sorrow. He did not know if Miriel could feel this as she strode to it. She was out of the trees now, opting to walk beside the group for at least a little while.

Miriel looked down at the forest floor, seemingly seeing something that had caught her interest. Her head was cocked to the side as she bent down to inspect the linear patterns in the dirt. Her ears twitched adorably before she leapt up with a great smile.

“There are Dalish nearby!” She exclaimed happily. Solas sighed and closed his eyes. He was not particularly eager to engage with the Dalish. But for Miriel…he was quickly learning that he was willing to sacrifice much of his personal comfort for her happiness.

They followed the paths coursing through the wood and reached a small dip in the altitude, presumably where the entrance to the great ruin was. Just as Miriel had said, there was a small band of Dalish elves. The lack of children present indicated that this was more of an offshoot of a clan, however.

“Aneth ara!” Miriel called out as she spied them. Heads jerked towards the group in surprise. Miriel made sure her hair left her face unobstructed, proudly displaying her own Vallaslin to them. Most of the Dalish gave a slight nod at her, allowing them to approach, though a few looked at her with suspicion and crossed arms.

“Andaran atish’an, lethallan,” who Solas presumed to be the leader of the group said to Miriel.

“I am Taven, First to Keeper Hawen,” he continued and Miriel smiled broadly.

“I know Keeper Hawen, I met him in the Exalted Plains. He is worried about you, lethallin,” cue a long conversation between the two Dalish about how Taven was in the Emerald Graves looking for history of the lost Dales, potentially about the Emerald Knights. Miriel babbled happily with the man, but something began to bother Solas. He shifted his gaze, inspecting each elf until he came across a rather angry looking woman, her Vallaslin also dedicating her to Andruil. Solas looked at Bull who had no doubt had already cased every elf here. The man was smart, cleverly positioning himself so that he would be able to defend Miriel from attack from the woman.

Miriel continued to talk with Taven and the woman’s scowl deepened. When Miriel offered the aid of the Inquisition, the woman stepped forward.

“This is ridiculous, Taven! We do not need help from these _shemlen_ ,” she spat and Miriel’s back went ramrod straight. She turned toward the woman and narrowed her eyes.

“Careful what you say, _lethallan_ ,” Miriel said, her tone warning.

“You think you remain part of the People? You play bitch to these shems, you are no better than the flat ears.” This time Miriel actually hissed.

“Fen’Harel ma ghilana, len’alas lath’din,” Miriel ground out. Solas quirked a brow at the irony in her statement but said nothing as the two women practically growled at each other.

“You sniveling bitch, you _dare_ ,” the woman strode forward but Taven stepped in front of Miriel.

“Enough, Idril, the Inquisitor has done us no harm. Ir abelas, lethallan, I would have Idril apologize,” Taven said but the woman, Idril, was having none of it.

“Apologize? She comes here claiming to be part of the people when she has been cast out of her own clan! No Keeper would send away a hunter as skilled as she without good cause. She says I follow the Dread Wolf, I say she should look in a mirror.” Idril spit at Miriel’s feet and stormed off. Solas scowled at the woman, somehow restraining himself from casting any spells that would do her bodily harm.

“Oi, _bitch_ ,” Miriel’s accent, which normally was a barely there lilt, was suddenly thick and very clearly Dalish. She too spat at the ground when Idril turned around.

“We gonna have this row, or not?” Miriel asked. Idril looked taken aback for a second then smiled. Solas moved his eyes between the two women, _what is going on?_

**

Was this bitch for real? Not Dalish? Not _of the People_? When _she_ could speak more Elven, when _she_ had probably the elfiest lover in all of Theads, when _she_ had darker Vallaslin than this bitch could ever hope to endure? Right, it was _on._ Spitting at the ground was seen as an insult, but if the person insulted then spit back…then it was a challenge, and not just any challenge since they were both dedicated to Andruil – it was time for a brawl.

Idril, the twat, strode forward, pulling her black hair back into a bun. Miriel’s was already in a pony tail, proudly displaying her hunter’s cut, of which Idril had none. The other Dalish began to make a circle around the women while Miriel’s people just continued to stand there looking quite perplexed.

“Move to the side, Dalish thing,” she said, gesturing for Solas, Bull, and Dorian to back off. Bull shrugged and stepped back. Dorian was obviously skeptical but he too stepped back. Solas, however, of course did not. He scowled and crossed his arms.

“Is this necessary?” He asked, his tone derisive. She rolled her eyes, it was not time for her lover to get all judgmental about how the Dalish settled their arguments.

“Yes, it is, _back up,_ Solas,” She said again, her eyes hard as she stared him down. Solas stared right back, his gaze unbreakable until Bull grabbed the man and pulled him to the side.

“This is important to her, let her be,” the Qunari said. Solas looked like he was about to intervene again but stayed still. Miriel turned her gaze back to Idril who was stretching. Taven stepped forward, also looking exasperated with the situation.

“As according to tradition, the fight will be hand-to-hand _only._ No daggers, or arrows, or shivs, or anything else – if you use one, the other is declared the victor. Biting is also forbidden,” Taven said. Miriel began to disarm, removing her bow, arrows, and the five daggers on her person. Idril did the same.

“The victor is determined by a count, whoever stays down for a count of ten is the loser. The victor determines the appropriate apology at the end. The fight begins at the count of five – one, two, three, four, five.” Taven finished, stepping out of the way. Neither Idril nor Miriel lunged at the other, however, but instead began to walk slowly in a circle. Each of them watched the other’s movements, learning where would be a probable weak spot to hit for a quick knock out.

Idril was young, her body flexible, but her strength lacked. How could Miriel tell? Idril looked almost exactly like Miriel did around the age of eighteen – only lithe muscle built from only a few years of bow use and running. Miriel was older, probably not as flexible, but she was stronger and more than likely faster. Miriel feinted a slight issue with her left knee, something to lure Idril in so that Miriel could strike.

Idril lunged at Miriel with a speed that the older elf had not been anticipating, _scratch on being faster_. Miriel danced out of the way and raised her leg to bring down on top of Idril. The younger elf caught Miriel’s leg and turned, causing Miriel to tumble to the ground.

“One,” the count began, but Miriel was already pushing herself up onto her hands and kicking out with her legs to trip Idril. Down Idril went.

“One, two,” and Idril was up again, barely looking worse for wear.

“This is ridiculous,” Miriel heard Solas say on the sidelines. _BAM!_ Shit, the man had distracted her enough for Idril to land a quick punch to Miriel’s face. But Miriel gave as good as she got and returned the favor by hitting the girl even harder causing her to double over. Miriel then drove her knee into Idril’s abdomen. Idril heaved as her breath was lost. Miriel punched her again, blood splattered from the woman’s broken nose and she fell to the ground.

“One, two, three, four,” Idril stood back up. Her legs weak and her head clearly spinning.

“Had enough?” Miriel asked, her tone light but serious. She didn’t really want to hurt the girl, just teach her a lesson about saying awful things to people who were kind to you.

“Bitch!” Idril spat, blood spewing out of her mouth. Miriel sighed as the girl once again launched herself at Miriel. She was slower this time, allowing Miriel to drop and kick her legs out from under Idril. The girl cried out as she once again tumbled to the ground.

“One, two, three, four, five, six,” Idril pushed herself to her hands and knees, panting. Miriel walked over to her and grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her back.

“Apologize, and this will be over,” Miriel said softly, keeping her accent thick. Idril clearly thought about it for a moment, but then her eyes hardened and she spat blood and spit into Miriel’s face. Briefly stunned, Miriel blinked, which allowed enough time for Idril to grab Miriel’s arm, pull her forward and then launch herself onto Miriel’s back, wrapping her legs around the older elf.

“AH!” Miriel cried as Idril’s arm came around Miriel’s neck in a strangle hold. Miriel instinctively grabbed the other elf’s arm and pulled, but nothing came of it. Biting briefly entered her mind but recalled that it was forbidden. So Miriel did what any dirty fighting elf did – she went for the ears. Miriel reached up and yanked _hard_ on Idril’s ear as she herself quickly bent forward, continually pulling on the woman’s arm. Idril screamed as she was launched forward. The girl landed in the dirt, clutching at her ear, blood spilling from where the flesh had torn. The ear was not severed…exactly, just ripped.

Miriel approached her once more, about to offer mercy when the girl snarled like a feral beast.

“Do your worst, _flat ear_!” With that final insult Miriel landed two quick successive punches to the girl’s face. Out.

Taven counted to ten and declared Miriel the victor but Miriel just felt dirty. She didn’t feel like an elf, she barely felt like herself…and she would probably have to endure a lecture from Solas later about it as well. _Dread Wolf take me._ She thought as she stalked away from the encampment, only vaguely aware of the trickle of blood down her face.

Bull turned to the Dalish standing next to him, his hand extended, palm up.

“Pay up, ears.”

**

The fight had been pointless and quick. Solas had frowned the entire time as he watched Idril and Miriel fight, another battle embroiled within himself at seeing Miriel assaulted while he watched on the sidelines. Really, for all that she boasted about their virtues, the Dalish were harsh even to their own. He should have expected this, should have been prepared…but Miriel had seen her people, had joyously run to them. The connection she had been longing for months, the almost familiar faces offering some semblance of the home she had once enjoyed…and this woman had spoiled it for her.

Solas glared at the passed out girl on the ground, some of the others lifting her to clean her up. Miriel had been desperate to feel like herself if only for a few brief moments. Her dreams had become more focused on her memories of her clan as of late. He should have spoken to her about this, but he hadn’t.

So when she had seen the Dalish…her need to feel the embrace of a clan was so great that she forgot that there might be those who would not welcome her. She was Dalish, her face should be virtue enough for her to pass freely among what she believed to be her people. He knew the feeling.

Solas followed Miriel quietly, allowing her distance to work through whatever it was she needed to work through. He was certain she was full of tumultuous emotions that would not be served well by his interference. So he stayed back in the shadows, watching her as she strode through the cool Dales toward a large cliff. He smiled softly to himself – she was seeking to clear her head and using what she knew to help: height.

She stood there, on the cliff, eyes closed and arms angled away from her body, her palms facing the wind. The wind ruffled the loose hair from her pony tail and in that moment, even with blood the blood on her lip and cheek, her Vallaslin stark against her golden skin, she looked truly Elvhen. Fierce, unbidden, passionate, but quiet and demure. His heart hurt for what he presumed to be a trying day. She didn’t deserve the scorn of the People, but she had endured it, would be stronger for it.

After a moment, Miriel sat down keeping her face toward the wind. When she opened her eyes he could see they were glassy with unshed tears. _Do not cry, vhenan, they are unworthy of your tears._ Finally he felt moved enough to walk to her side. She looked up at him and gave a short, harsh, laugh.

“And here’s the lecture about getting into fights and how savage and ignorant the Dalish are,” she said bitterly, her arms crossing around her middle. Solas sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I was going to ask you if you are all right,” he said and she looked at him with equal parts surprise and suspicion.

“No long speech on how violence isn’t the answer or how I do the Dalish proud with my stupid actions?” She asked and he moved his hand up to stroke her cheek.

“I would never call you or your actions stupid, vhenan,” he said softly and she scoffed.

“You muttered that it was ridiculous during the fight,” she said, no qualms on calling him out.

“The Iron Bull was betting on you winning the fight, as if you were some dog. I took offense,” Solas explained and she gave him an odd look of an arched brow and quirked mouth.

“You are seriously not displeased with me about this?” She asked and he shook his head.

“Of course not. You were hoping for acceptance, to feel like you were home again, but your home isn’t here. I am so sorry that woman called you those horrible things, she had no right and was incorrect on every account,” he told her and she smiled sweetly at him. She then leaned forward to give him a quick, sweet kiss.

“Thank you, and yes, it sucked. I miss my clan, but sometimes…sometimes I worry that I have grown too much while apart from them. I don’t think…I don’t think the home that I think about is there anymore, not because they’re different, but because I am,” she spoke softly, staring into her hands. Solas reached over and took her hands in his.

“Your home is where your heart and soul lie, vhenan, you can always carry it with you,” he said, staring into her warm gold eyes, wishing he could fall into their warm pools of light.

“Then it’s you,” she said, her voice barely audible. She looked at him with pure love and adoration, both of which he was unworthy.

“Vhenan, I-

“You have me, Solas, all of me. I don’t think I have made that clear before, but you are…you always say that I surprise you, well, you surprised me too. I mean, the man I was with before you was young, strapping, had hair. And here you are, this older, quiet, bald man with infinite knowledge and wisdom…and I…I love you so much. I look at you and I see you for all that you are with your wisdom and your art and your _adorable freckles_ and your intense passion. And I know this is a sappy confession, but I have needed to say it for so long. You are…you are my home, ma sa’lath, with you, I am never alone.” He was moved by her, absolutely, completely moved and taken by this young, vibrant, Dalish woman before him. There would be no other, not even the idea of another, for she was his beginning, his end, and everything that he hoped he could be, but never would. With all the love he had, all the passion he could give her, he kissed her.

She kissed him back just as eagerly, pouring her emotions into it. She loved him, a fact that he both reveled and toiled in. He loved her, and he knew he always would. She was his heart, pure and simple. And he was most likely doomed to break it, whether he told her the truth or he left…he would hurt her.

As much as he knew that nothing good could happen, he wanted to love her. And he told himself that even if the future brought pain, that did necessarily dictate that now had to be painful.

He cradled her head, angling her so that he could have more access to her mouth. She moaned, her hands moving to his chest, grabbing at his tunic. The memory of the dream they had shared a few days ago crept into his mind and he shuddered as he pulled her closer. On a bold whim, he lifted her so that she was sitting in his lap, poised snugly against him..

“Solas?” she murmured softly into his ear, a shiver running through her as he rocked against her.

“Do you wish me to stop?” he asked, rocking against her again. Her head fell back and he pressed his lips softly to her neck.

“Don’t you dare,” she moaned as he continued to move his pelvis against her sex. He chuckled and licked the length of her neck, enjoying the saltiness left by her sweat. Her hands moved up from tugging at his robes to dragging his face from her neck to her face. Their mouths met in a sensual open kiss that heightened their arousal for each other. Solas’s erection throbbed in his leggings, wanting more direct contact than this wonderful teasing friction. But more than that, he wanted to see her come undone his arms. He knew how her body would tense over his, her back arching, mouth falling open, as her hands opened and shoulders hunched – how her wonderfully erotic scent would fill their intimate space, how wet she would be. He pulled her down more firmly against him and she bit her lip in pleasure. Her hands gripped his head, and he allowed her command of the kiss. She bit at his lips, teeth pulling, tongue pushing. It was sloppy and messy and absolutely glorious. He might be the one holding her, but she was surrounding him with her touch, with her scent, with the things she made him feel. All he could feel, hear, taste was her.

Arousal coiled tightly in his loins and his desperation to see her orgasm overwhelmed him. Solas allowed his magic briefly billow outwards then focused it to caress her more precisely than what his legging clad erection could accomplish. Her reaction was immediate, back arching, mouth gasping into his. She whimpered and he smiled ruefully before continuing to rub against her with his body and magic.

“Solas, Solas,” she panted, now gripping his shoulders. Her hips thrusted against him, needing, craving more. He would always give her more, he realized, and the thought did not distress him as much as he thought it would.

“Miriel,” he crooned and she shivered. He did not say her name overly much, preferring to call her ‘Vhenan,’ but he knew the effect it had on her and he did find the name beautiful, just as he found the woman incomparably radiant.

He gripped her hips, keeping her body focused on his to maximize her pleasure while his magic pushed, circled upwards around her clit. She suddenly leaned forward with a gasp, her arms encircling his shoulders as she buried her head into where his neck met his shoulder. He felt her teeth suddenly take purchase on his shoulder, biting through the fabric of his robes to muffle the moaning. One of his hand cupped he back of her head and pulled, bringing her mouth to his. His mouth would swallow her moans, not his shoulder, and moan she did. Her thrusts became erratic, desperate for the release that was _so close._ He concentrated his magic once more, keeping the strokes to her clit consistent but then adding a small penetrative force to her entrance. He rubbed, caressed, thrust and when she finally came undone it was glorious. Her back arched as her fingers bore into him. They remained lip locked as her body was wracked with pleasure…pleasure that he gave her. Pride filled him as she rode out her orgasm, pressing and seizing against him simultaneously.

Once she calmed down, she rested her head against his shoulder and he rubbed her back.

“Mmm, this is getting a bit ridiculous,” she commented and he had to agree.

“You tempt me beyond reason,” he replied.

“Clearly,” she giggled but nuzzled his neck affectionately. They slowly exited their embrace although mostly unwillingly. She had work to do smoothing things over with the Dalish, however, and if they were absent for much longer there would be suspicions that he just was unwilling to endure. They held hands until people could see them and then business and duty resumed.

“You are the victor, Inquisitor, how would you have Idril apologize?” Taven asked as Miriel gazed down at Idril who was on her knees. Miriel sighed and stood straight, arms behind her back.

“If you are a truly honorable and noble Dalish as you claim to be, your apology will be to never use the words ‘shem’ or ‘shemlen’ or ‘quick’ or ‘flat-ear’ ever again. Your apology is not just to me, but to those you have ignorantly condemned because of origin of birth and circumstance,” Solas smiled at Miriel’s declaration.

_Every time I think I cannot love her more, she proves me wrong._

**

Relations with the Dalish were tense after the fight and resolution. As such, the group decided to make camp away from the Dalish encampment and instead setting up their tents near one of the great waterfalls in the region. Even with nightfall, the full moon and star-studded sky lit the area in beautiful light. Light filtered through the leaves, glinting on the shimmering rocks made slick from the rushing water. Under the luminescent cascade Miriel washed the blood, dirt, and grime acquired throughout the day. She only had her basic soaps with her, none of the nice bathing oils she had gotten used to at Skyhold. It was decidedly un-Dalish to be so used to such luxuries, but she was under a surprising amount of stress…she could treat herself to a nice bubble bath every now then.

But here there was no large tub or scented oils that made her skin amazingly smooth and smell like strawberries. But the consistent pressure provided by the waterfall was absolutely wonderful as it beat across her sore shoulders and back. Bruises and abrasions decorated her skin, particularly on her sides and back, from blows or being knocked back to the ground. She rubbed an elfroot salve across her skin as best she could and while she was flexible, she lacked a certain reach. Sighing, she placed the salve down and continued to wash and massage her body.

“Would you like assistance, vhenan?” Miriel turned around quickly to see Solas standing slightly up the river, partially hidden in shadow. She smiled at him and he began to walk forward into the light. He had left his heavy combat robes back at camp, instead he was clad in only his simple leggings and typical tunic, heavy jaw-bone pendant a stark dark contrast to the light he was bathed in. His eyes glinted playfully in the night with an accompanying smirk.

“How kind of you to offer,” she purred at him, completely comfortable in her nudity. His gaze raked over her and she felt the weight as intimately as any of his touches. Her hair stood on end, her nipples already hard from the cold. She was quickly warming up now, however.

“Very well,” he said simply as he began to disrobe. First went his tunic, then his foot wraps, and finally his leggings. He was clad in nothing but his skin and the wolf jaw pendant looking deliciously devious and carnal. His cock was already beginning to harden as he strode to her. She studied his form, appreciating the purposeful muscle and tone. She noticed that he was somewhat bigger than when she had first met him, slightly broader, more filled out almost. She supposed that the food at Skyhold had also affected him.

Solas was then standing in front of her, in all his naked elven glory. She smiled up at him, trying to go for demure but just ending up at blissfully happy that he was here. She placed a hand over his heart and he covered it with his own hand. He bent down and kissed her gently, no tongue, just a nice little “hello, love” without actually speaking. When they broke apart she moved her hand to his necklace. She sighed as she ran a curious finger down the length of the bone.

“I just want you…nothing else,” she then moved to remove the necklace. Solas smiled in return and bent down so that she could accomplish her task. She placed the necklace next to the salve and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“There, now there is nothing between us,” she said happily. He placed his hands on the back of her hips, pulling her close.

“As it should be, vhenan,” he kissed her again, hard and fast before reaching behind her. He then turned her around and began to rub the elfroot salve onto her back. His hands were firm yet gentle and oh so perfect. She sighed happily as aches and pains were slowly worked out of her back as he moved his hands. Soon his hands wandered from her back to the sides of her waist and up to her breasts. He shuffled closer to her so that her back was completely pressed up against his chest, his cock resting pleasantly against the curve of her ass.

Solas cupped her breasts, fingers tugging gently on her nipples. She shivered and leaned back in his embrace. He bent down and kissed the side of her neck.

“You seem to be much more complacent than earlier,” he murmured and she shrugged slightly.

“I guess I am just happy to have this, being in your arms,” she wiggled slightly against him, making sure to move her ass just so to stroke his cock. He made a low sound in his throat before kissing her neck.

“Is that all you are content with?” Solas tweaked her nipples and she gave a soft moan.

“Perhaps not,” she replied, angling her head to grant him more access to her neck. She felt his smile and warmth having nothing to do with arousal filled her. _Creators, I love this man._ Solas began to slowly move his hips against her ass and soon with his mouth on her neck, hands on her breasts, the fire from earlier began to return. His mouth then ghosted up to her ear where he licked and sucked gently on the shell. Shivers ran down her spine and she arched, pressing her ass more insistently against his ass. Needing his lips on hers, her hand reached back and held his head, pulling him in for a kiss. Her other hand rested on top the hand fondling her breast. They began to move their hips in tandem creating a deliciously unrushed rhythm.

The fire from earlier was once more present, but it wasn’t an all-consuming frenzy, desperate to get off. No, this was a purposeful, long-lasting flame that would leave residual heat for days to come. Their course was set, this fire would no longer be ignored and they both knew it. _Finally,_ she thought as he began to move her out from under the water and towards a rather conveniently shaped rock outcropping.

Miriel turned around so that their chests pressed together as they kissed. Her arms around his neck, his arms around her waist, hands resting comfortably on her ass. Solas directed her so that she sat on the edge of the rock, legs splayed to allow his close proximity.

He cupped her face briefly, kissing her deeply, before suddenly dropping down to his knees. Excitement filled Miriel, knowing full well what he intended to do.

“I will never tire of this,” he murmured briefly before setting upon her with a deft tongue and skilled fingers. She leaned back and closed her eyes as he worked her personal favorite magic of his. His tongue swirled and teased, dipping into her sex every so often where he pumped a finger in and out slowly. He suckled her clit and she hissed as overwhelming pleasure gripped her body. Solas released the sensitive nub to only lick it once more.

“Solas,” she moaned as he continued his ministrations. His tongue rubbed her just right and her sheath clenched tightly around his finger as he pumped it in and out. She felt so much, too much, not enough. His magic was suddenly surrounding her, groping her flesh, prodding at her breasts and nipples just as he sucked her clit once more, crooking his finger inside of her. Miriel came undone on a soft cry, her feet pushing her body so that her hips cleared the rock to press more earnestly into Solas’s face. He growled his appreciation, his unoccupied hand squeezing her ass in appreciation.

Solas continued to lick the moisture from her sex even as her muscles began to relax. He seemed reluctant to part from her but her need, his need, had evolved past simple oral sex. She craved him and all that he had to give.

“Solas…I need…please, ma sa’lath, I don’t think I can…” she struggled to find the right words to ask him to just _please fuck me, now._

“Ma nuvenin,” Solas purred as he stood back up, his cock long and hard with rampant desire. She grew wetter in another rush just at the sight, a thrill running through her as she knew that he would finally, _finally_ take her.

“Ar lath ma, Solas,” she murmured as he positioned them so that he was aligned with her properly, cock teasing at her entrance. Miriel’s hands went to his shoulders and brought her gaze up to his. Gold eyes locked with blue-grey ones, both tender and aflame with desire. Her hand drifted up to trace a delicate finger across his cheek just as he began to guide himself into her. Lips parted on a silent gasp as she felt herself stretch around him. A shudder went through Solas straight into Miriel. Faces closer, lips almost touching but not, breath mingling together as if they were breathing each other in. Their eyes fluttered closed as he slowly, so _steadily_ filled her.

Miriel’s head fell back, mouth open, toes curled, once he was fully seated inside her. Her legs widened even further as she brought them up to wrap around Solas’s hips.

**

_This is insanity. No, she is sanity in this insane world, the only sanity._ Solas thought as he stirred himself inside her. Her whimper of pleasure roused him further and he groaned. Pleasure rolled over him in crashing waves, waking long sleeping desires.

Solas pressed his lips to her throat, tasting hints of elfroot and soap. He angled his hips up to briefly grind against her clit. Thankfully he moved his head away from her neck just as her head snapped forward on a cry. His low chuckle turned into a groan as she moved herself on his member. He gave a shallow thrust of his hips and she moaned.

“Yes, more of _that_ ,” she encouraged. _Happy to oblige,_ Solas thought as he pulled his hips back slowly, savoring the sensation of her sheath pulling on him. Just before he had completely left her, he stopped but he did not thrust forward. She squirmed, mewling impatiently.

“Solas! Please, sa’lath,” she pleaded but he only stirred the head within her.

“What do you need, vhenan?” He was torturing them both by not thrusting forward, but it was such exquisite torture.

“You, Solas, you,” she moaned, her hands gripping his shoulders.

“Can you be a bit more,” he moved a centimeter forward, “specific?”

“Your cock, Solas. I need you to fuck me, okay? I swear, if you don’t – OH!” He thrust forward, once more completely sheathing himself in her.

“Uh!” He grunted before regaining his ability to speak, “what was that, vhenan?” He teased as he began to move back again.

“I don’t kno-OH!” Thrust forward again. _So hot, wet,_ tight. A pressure was beginning to build at the bottom of his spine, but he willed it away. He would last, just because it had been at least at a thousand years did not mean he would not be able to please her as he had pleased many other women before her. No, he would please her _more_ , because she was more than any of those women could ever be.

Solas’s hands moved to hold her hip and cup her face. He kissed her as he set a languid pace full of burning desire and love. Shivers ran through her and he smiled into the kiss. _Perfect._

**

She knew Solas was older, but she didn’t know that he was a slow poke. Sure, languid love making would have been nice if this was like…their fifth round, but right now Miriel needed hard, and she needed fast. Solas seemed less inclined to do either of those things, so she moved her hands down to his hips and along with her legs wrenched him forward to thrust into her _hard._

“Ah!” He said startled. But his back arched and a shiver ran through his body as he leaned his head against her shoulder.

“Vhenan,” he groaned and began to thrust into her more forcefully, the pace quicker, more fierce. She moaned happily as she thrusted back as much as she could in her position. She began to clench around him, creating an even tighter friction to stroke him as he moved.

“ _Fenedhis, asha,”_ he growled. She shivered, muscles tightening at his voice. _Creators, this man!_ He crashed his lips against hers and immediately began to plunder her mouth with his tongue. His thrusts became more forceful, quicker. She reveled in every part – her abdomen alight with arousal and pleasure as he drove into her.

“Yes, Solas, just like that, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she chanted. Hard cock driving in and out of her, filling her perfectly, his hips jerking up ever so slightly to grind against her clit. _So good, more, more, more._ His magic thrummed at her clit, stroking as his cock stroked her inner walls. Creators, he felt so amazing in her, around her, touching her. Hard in her, soft around her, unrelenting against her.

Pleasure built and built in her loins, a pressure pain so sublime that tremors wracked her body. Her legs shook so that Solas reached around to hold one of them firmly in his grasp, his other hand cupping her head, keeping her gaze locked with his. She felt possessed, she felt on fire, she felt like she was about to be torn apart if she didn’t – THERE. Her orgasm ricocheted through her, shaking her body and soul to the core. She felt like she _did_ come apart in his arms, shaking, convulsing as she gripped, grasped him.

She came back together to realize that Solas had placed a hand over her mouth. He smiled as he removed his hand.

“You were screaming,” he explained and she blushed.

“I never screamed before…” she murmured and he smiled deviously. He leaned in close to her ear where he nipped at her lobe before speaking.

“Good,” he growled before driving into her again. An aftershock shot through her, and she moaned. She clenched around him, he grunted, drove into her harder, faster. _Yes._ Pleasure built up in her _again_ and she felt herself beginning that spiral again, sinking deeper into the flames of passion as he allowed himself to pursue his own pleasure.

Solas’s thrusts became erratic and soon he was groaning and growling along with her moans and mewls. Tension coiled in her belly, needing to be released. She thrusted back against him, seeking out her own release. She went up, he went down and her world went white as she flung her arms around his shoulders and clung to him, her sex milking him. He gripped her ass, lifting her off the rock so that all she touched was him. She bit down on his shoulder as her muscles contracted and he groaned as he finally found his release.

“Ahh,” he groaned, pumping his seed into her. Tremors ran through her as she felt the hot lashes of his release inside her. She made incoherent noises into his shoulder as they rode out their orgasms.

When some semblance of sanity returned to Miriel, she was sitting in Solas’s lap, on a lower rock. His legs hung of the edge and disappeared into the water. He was still inside of her, gradually softening. Solas ran his fingers through her still wet hair and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple.

“That was,” Miriel began.

“Perfect?” Solas supplied.

“ _Fucking amazing._ You have been holding out on me, mister,” she poked his chest playfully before settling against him once more.

“I will have to endeavor to apologize then,” he chuckled.

“I like the sound of that,” she cooed. But as much as she enjoyed the thought of that, her eyes were drifting closed as a contented sleepiness overwhelmed her. Solas was very comfortable to sleep on, after all, and he had certainly exhausted her.

She felt him picking her up before sleep finally claimed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY DID IT! Silly horny elves. Anyways, thank you for reading! I hope you liked it! Please comment, leave kudos, etc. They make my day :) <3


	34. Reassurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas gifts Miriel with the ability to see her clan even while thousands of miles apart. In return, he is surprised once again by a Lavellan. SFW

When the first letter from her clan arrived in Haven, Miriel had been quick to write back assuring her clan and Keeper that she was well. Keeper Deshanna had replied that she was happy to hear that Miriel was fine and that the clan was in good spirits. When the third letter came, a sense of dread and foreboding had overtaken Miriel. Bandits would occasionally clash with the clan, but it usually ended with the clan easily dispatching them and moving on. There were no great battles or threats, especially since bandits were rarely ever as well equipped or trained as Dalish hunters and defenders. For the clan to be concerned enough to send word and ask for aid against bandits from a predominantly human organization with Chantry affiliations would entail that something had gone very, very wrong. Miriel had been quick to assign Leliana with the task of sending agents to protect her clan. There was no debate of it. She spent the time in between letters fretting and somehow everyone knew that asking her how she was doing was not a good idea.

Then word had come: they were safe from the bandits! But reports began to pour in from Leliana’s agents about the increasingly unstable conditions developing in Wycome. Another letter: the halla had been slaughtered, her clan was trapped. Josephine’s ambassadors were sending word that the Duke was poisoning the water in the city and blaming the elves and trying to use clan Lavellan as a scapegoat. More letters, more agents, more stress.

Miriel didn’t talk about this, not to anyone. Solas probably suspected, but he didn’t press her. She didn’t know if she was grateful that he was respecting her privacy, or upset that he wouldn’t try to help her work through something that was clearly bothering her. Regardless she remained quiet, keeping herself busy with tasks to save the world.

Leliana had then approached her after Adamant with a new report: the hostilities were getting worse. City elves were fleeing the city to the Dalish or staying in the city and being slaughtered. There was no time to send an army or Miriel herself to Wycome – so she did the only thing she could and had Leliana smuggle hunters into the city. _Mythal protect them,_ she prayed frequently and her nightmares turned to visions of her clan being slaughtered. Thankfully, Leliana’s plan had worked, but then things got rapidly worse. Before heading to the Emerald Graves, she had to authorize Cullen sending a large division of their army to defend Wycome from neighboring cities who were still blaming the elves for the situation.

She woke one night on the way to the Emerald Graves, covered in sweat, and a quick touch to her cheeks told her that she had been crying in her sleep.

“Vhenan?” Solas had been wakened. Dammit.

“Go back to sleep, I’m fine,” she whispered, moving to leave the bed. His hand reached over and took hers as he sat up.

“You are not. You have been anxious for some time. I wished to be respectful of your desire of privacy but I cannot stand by and watch you suffer like this. What is wrong, vhenan?” He asked, blue eyes soft even as the sternness in his voice told her that he would not be backing down. She sighed and closed her eyes.

“My clan was beset by secret agents in Wycome who probably serve the Venatori. The Duke of the city is cooperating with the Tevinters and has been polluting the city’s wells with red lyrium, all except for the elves. He then blamed all the sickness on the elves and the nearby Dalish encampment…my clan. Leliana and Josephine are trying to…I don’t know, solve the problem? But I just…my clan, Solas. My sisters, my nephew…I can’t…” Solas pulled her to his chest where he stroked her hair and held her tight.

“I do not know what will happen, but know that you are doing everything in your power to save them. No matter what happens, remember that,” she sighed as she let herself relax against him and wrapped her arms around him.

“I should be there,” she whispered.

“Then the world would fall to Corypheus including your clan. You fight for them always, vhenan, even if indirectly,” he continued to hold her quietly for a few more minutes before realizing that she was not any closer to falling back asleep.

“I know a spell that may allow us to see what is happening in Wycome and your clan, if you believe that would help to ease your concerns.” He offered, not entirely sure this was a good idea. She lifted her head, her eyes dark.

“That…that would be good, I think.”

“Be sure, I would not want you to do this and not be completely certain that it is your wish,” he said seriously. Miriel paused for a moment, clearly thinking before she took a deep breath and nodded.

“Very well. We will need to sleep, then I will manipulate the Fade to show us what is happening there,” knowing that she was too anxious to fall asleep, he cast a simple sleep spell on them both. They slipped easily into the Fade and he quickly found her thanks to the Mark.

“Do I need to do anything?” She asked and he shook his head.

“I will cast it, then we may move about the scene as we see fit,” he explained before he began to chant in an almost recognizable yet distant language. She wanted to listen, but her worry and single mindedness to see her clan and family clouded her ability to focus. She just needed to see that they were alive, that her advisors weren’t carrying on a ruse to keep her going. It was paranoid to think such a thing but it made as much sense as anything these days. She could only be certain of what she saw and even then doubt ran deep.

Soon the Fade began to waiver around them, flickering brightly until it slowly took shape. Wycome was situated north and east of most other Free Marches cities. It sat in the delta of the Minanter River, the major river that ran through the Free Marches, making a lush, temperate region that did a considerable amount of trade with Antiva.

Now the region was grey with winter. The trees were bare and the animals had all scurried to their burrows and nests to keep warm. The only color came from the red cloth wrapped around the sails of the aravels. They were worn and battered from the fighting, but they still stood. Miriel quickly counted them all hoping against fear. Seventeen! They were all there! Next came counting the people.

Miriel walked through the camp, dipping into the aravels to make sure that each had five or six people in them. Mahna, Ulivas, Eldir, Valora…she continued to move through the aravels and the camp, looking at each face. There was Rana, her husband Theron, and their small son Fenaven, all sleeping close together in one of the smaller aravels. Miriel’s brow furrowed as she looked at the sleeping elves.

“Maren should be here,” she murmured before she examined the aravel for clues to Maren’s whereabouts.

“She is your younger sister, yes?” Solas asked as he followed her. They walked out towards the forest, the lights from the campsite quickly fading into the night.

“Yeah…and if she’s wandered off in the middle night, it usually means she’s had another nightmare.” Miriel said distractedly. Maren hadn’t bothered to cover her tracks like usual, but the girl had remarkably small feet and left tiny little imprints in the dirt. Miriel was a damn good hunter, however, and could easily follow her trail.

“How old is she?”

“Thirteen,” Miriel didn’t offer more information as she began to pick up the pace. She needed to see her baby sister. While she always loved and would always love Rana, Miriel and Maren had always shared a special bond. Maren had always gone to Miriel for help for really anything, which would chafe Rana but she didn’t mind as she managed the family relations to the clan. Miriel’s mischief and Rana learning how to be a Halla Keeper kept Rana busy, which then left Maren in Miriel’s care most of the time. And when Miriel was out hunting, Dhavon or Theron would watch Maren.

They finally came across a small clearing where Maren sat in the middle with her back to Miriel and Solas. She sat on the ground, hands raised in front of her face. Relief coursed through Miriel as she strode calmly into the clearing. As she crossed in front of her sister she saw the soft green light spilling between her hands. Her lips trembled and eyes flickered behind closed eyes.

“Your sister is a mage,” Solas commented in slight shock and Miriel smiled.

“Yes, I know. She is very talented,” Miriel’s voice was full of love and pride as she watched her sister work with the gift of her ancestors. Suddenly Maren’s eyes snapped open and she looked around the clearing.

“Miriel?” She asked and Miriel did a double take. She turned to Solas who gave a small smile.

“The Veil is apparently thin here and your sister is sensitive to the Fade…she can hear us,” he informed her. Miriel’s eyes widened at his words while Maren continued to look about in the dark.

“Who are you? What’s going on?” Like a frightened Halla, Maren began to back out of the clearing ready to bolt when Miriel spoke again.

“It’s me, Maren! Mother wanted to name you Ulena, but father convinced her to name you Maren in honor of his mother,” Miriel quickly said. Maren had been plagued with nightmares since she was six, and Miriel had read in one of the books she had swiped that coming up with a phrase only certain people knew would help the burgeoning mage with knowing who the demons were and weren’t. So Miriel had come up with the Ulena tidbit. It was vaguely true, their father had never gone for the name Ulena. Miriel had lost count of the number of times Maren had woken from a dream and had needed Miriel to repeat the information over and over again until her sister calmed down.

“Who is with you?” Maren quickly demanded.

“A friend, his name is Solas. He cast a spell to allow me to see the clan. I am so worried about you.” Miriel took a step forward, the Fade bending around her. Maren stepped back, clearly sensing the shift in the Fade.

“You shouldn’t. We’re Dalish, we don’t submit to Tevinter shits,” Maren practically growled.

“Language, Mare,” Miriel automatically admonished. Solas chuffed beside her as if he was trying to keep himself from laughing but failing.

“Something you want to say, Solas?” Miriel asked and he shook his head.

“Nothing that will end well, vhenan,” he said and Maren’s eyes widened. Miriel closed her eyes and pursed her lips.

“And here we go-

“YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND?! WHAT DOES HE LOOK LIKE? IS HE CUTE? TELL ME!” Maren cried. Miriel sighed and looked at her lover who clearly had very little experience with thirteen year old girls.

“I believe I have made a mistake,” Solas said.

“Ya think?”

“Miri! What color are his eyes? Does he have nice ears? Oh, he’s a mage! Are you gonna get married and have babies? You should have a girl! I want a niece that I can dress up! And oh! Rana’s pregnant and her baby will have another baby to play with!” Maren was speaking about a mile a minute, speculating on babies and marriage and things that Miriel had barely thought about herself.

“Maren, Mare- STOP!” Miriel finally cried. Maren’s speech halted immediately but she looked upset and actually rather mad.

“Oh fine, just yell at me, you could have just asked,” the teenager muttered, crossing her arms.

“Ir abelas, Mare, but I need to know what is going on here.” Miriel explained as sweetly as possible. Maren sighed dramatically but acquiesced.

“Your people helped us with the bandits and Dhavon was injured, but he will be fine…just probably won’t ever use a shield again. The city then went crazy and all these shems started saying crazy stuff like elves were making people sick. They called us rats. Then all these city elves started running to us! They were _terrified_ of the shems…so we took them in, but they don’t know how to do much of anything. None of them hunt, and the hunters are already stretched thin. We’re running out of food and no trade is going to Wycome because the shems have made a mess of everything…” Miriel suddenly noticed how thin her sister looked, how pale and sickly her skin looked in the moonlight. Sickness rolled within Miriel as she stared at her sister, so slight and small for her age. Her mother had been a waif of a woman, starved growing up on the streets of Antiva City, but Maren was looking to be even smaller, especially if the lack of food kept up like this.

“Mare, I will help. I will speak with my advisors in the morning and ensure that the Inquisition agents take ample foodstuffs with them. Sit tight, da’len, everything…everything will be all right,” it was a lie, and everyone knew it, but it was a lie that they were all desperate to believe.

“Will you come tomorrow night? Miri?” Maren asked, eyes wide with hope. Miriel smiled and looked to Solas, it was up to him after all.

“Solas? Do you think we could?” Miriel asked and Solas took her hand.

“Of course, vhenan.” And they did go the next night, and subsequent nights after that. Miriel was able to respond to the crisis her clan and Wycome was facing better with the knowledge Maren provided her and soon she was receiving much better news.

It was a week after their first meeting with Maren when Solas confronted Miriel about Maren. They were still in the Emerald Graves and were beginning to focus their attention on the Red Templars now that the Freemen were largely dealt with. They had decided to aid the Dalish at Elgar’nan’s Bastion by lending them soldiers, but Miriel had made the executive decision to stay largely away from them.

“Why didn’t you tell me your sister was a mage?” He asked as they set up their tent for the night. She had spoken of her sisters quite a bit to him, usually at night or over breakfast when they were alone, and not once had she mentioned that Maren was a mage.

“Oh, I guess I was used to keeping it a secret.” Miriel replied, beginning to fidget. Solas frowned.

“You kept her magic a secret?” He asked, clearly confused. Miriel sighed.

“The clan already had three mages before Maren was even born, so when we discovered her magic…well, we sort of panicked. I was eighteen, she was six, neither of us wanted her to leave…it seemed at the time the logical thing to do.” She knew he disapproved but there was really nothing much she could have done. Solas continued to frown and added crossed arms to the mix.

“And how exactly did you keep that hidden? Magic doesn’t simply stay secret, Miriel.” His voice took a slightly condescending tone but Miriel understood. What she had encouraged Maren to do was largely stupid – so many things could have gone wrong. It was by sheer dumb luck that nothing had gone wrong.

“I stole books about magic from humans and had her read them all. I also read them. I figured if I was in on the secret, I needed to know about demons and spirits and whatnot.”

“Well, at least you thought of that.” He snorted and she rolled her eyes.

“I know it was stupid and that a thousand things could have gone wrong, but seeing where the Circles went…what she could have been forced to endure…I would do it all over again.” She stood her ground. At the time, the reasoning was unsound and completely dangerous but looking at where the world was now in regards to mages…keeping that secret had been a damn good thing.

“A mage needs a mentor, how is she expected to learn to use her gift and protect herself otherwise?” Solas’s tone turned from condescension to concern. He sat on the ground next to her and took her hand in his, whether it was to comfort her or himself, she couldn’t say, maybe both. She turned to him and smiled.

“She did find a teacher. Have you ever wondered why I was so accepting of Cole and your relationships with spirits?” Miriel asked and Solas’s eyes widened.

“She found a spirit to teach her?”

“Yes, er, well it found her. She calls him Widdy,” Miriel explained.

“’Widdy’?” He asked, equal parts surprise and disbelief.

“He’s a spirit of wisdom, Solas. But ‘wisdom’ for a six year old Dalish girl with a slight lisp was hard to say. So, Widdy,” it was simple enough. Maren had always been sensitive to the Fade, so Miriel hadn’t been surprised when a spirit had taken a special interest in the girl. Miriel had never directly met the spirit, but Maren had never showed signs of being possessed so Miriel had allowed it to continue…not that there was really anything Miriel could do if Maren was possessed. Over time Maren grew more comfortable with her abilities and even her nightmares began to ease. She would go to bed happily, waking up eager to practice whatever new technique Widdy had shown her. Miriel would then smuggle her away from the camp and watch her for an hour before heading out to hunt with Dinas.

“That is…amazing. I would never have thought…” he gave one of his short little laughs, the ones where he was truly surprised at the events. “I would never have guessed that such a young mage, without proper training even, could attract a spirit such as wisdom. Curiosity and Mischief, perhaps, but not Wisdom.” Miriel automatically puffed her chest out a bit, proud of her little sister.

“Maren’s always been special,” Solas smiled and took her face in his hands to kiss her deeply. He pushed her back onto the bedroll and crawled on top of her. Miriel giggled as his light kisses on her neck tickled.

“What are you doing?” She asked playfully.

“I am going to make love to you, then we’re going to go see your sister.”

“You certainly know how to melt a girl’s heart, ma sa’lath.”

**

They met in the same clearing as always, but this time Maren seemed agitated. She was pacing, twirling her hair around her fingers, and nibbling on her bottom lip.

“Maren? We’re here,” Miriel announced themselves and Maren jumped. That was odd, the jumpiness had gone away after the first visit.

“Miri! Solas…aneth’ara,” Maren muttered, clearly nervous about something.

“Is something the matter, Mare?” Miriel asked, concerned. Maren shrugged awkwardly and resumed her pacing.

“No, yes, I mean…ugh! Words are hard,” the small elf kicked a patch of dirt in frustration.

“Relax, da’len, take a deep breath and focus. What happened?” Solas asked. Maren scowled for a second before taking the deep breath Solas suggested.

“A couple of guys from the city ran out to the clan today. They were mages, about to fry us all…but nobody saw them, because they were using some sort of cloaking spell. I saw the Fade flickering around them though, and without thinking I…I flung a fireball at them. A big one. They blew up. A wagon blew up. The statue to Fen’Harel blew up. And um…everyone saw me use magic.” Maren’s voice got quieter towards the end and Miriel’s eyes grew wider.

“They know?” She asked quietly and Maren nodded solemnly.

“What…what did the Keeper say?”

“She said that six mages was just too much for the clan, that she would have to figure some way to move us to somewhere safer for everyone.”

“Six mages? What are you talking about, there were only four including you when I left-

“When the Breach opened up, Ileth cast a barrier around an aravel to protect it from demons. Tonlen flung a dagger at one of the demons with magic. I am the sixth, or…the fourth since Ileth and Tonlen are younger.” Maren quickly explained. Miriel closed her eyes slowly and choked the panic and worry down.

“This is fine. Mages are welcome at Skyhold and with the Inquisition. Maren, please inform your Keeper that the Inquisition would be happy to take in whomever the clan can no longer support,” Solas said before Miriel could even think about. She turned to him, surprised to see him take such initiative. It was a generous offer, and to the Dalish no less!

“Really? Miri, can I come?” Maren asked excitedly. She was practically jumping up and down from the idea.

“Of course, Mare! I could never turn away you or any of the clan,” Miriel confirmed, a warm smile spreading across her face. Maren smiled broadly and pumped her fist into the air.

“Are there other mages at Skyhold other than Solas? Are there children? Elves? Tell me!” Miriel chuckled at Maren’s enthusiasm.

“There are many mages at Skyhold, and there are apprentices just like you as well – elves, human – all there.” Maren suddenly stopped dancing, her eyes glassy with unshed tears of joy.

“You mean…I wouldn’t have to hide anymore?” She asked softly. Before Miriel could answer, Solas stepped forward, bending down to look Maren in the eye even though the girl couldn’t see him.

“You will never have to hide your gift again, da’len,” he said, his voice full of conviction. Miriel’s heart clenched and she brought a hand up to her mouth as she watched Maren raise a hand as if to touch Solas’s face. Solas raised his own hand, touching their palms together through the Veil. Maren’s ears twitched at the connection and she smiled.

“Ma serannas, hahren.”

After speaking with Maren about the situation with the clan and Wycome, the girl left to go get some proper sleep. When Miriel was certain her sister was out of ear shot, she pulled Solas’s face to hers, kissing him thoroughly.

“Ar lath ma, sa’lath. So much, thank you,” she said in between passionate kisses. Solas smiled into her mouth and wrapped his arms around her.

It seemed that Lavellan women were all full of surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAREN! I was so excited all this week to introduce her to you guys. Thank you for reading and I hope you like Maren as much as I do. Please leave kudos, comment, bookmark, etc.


	35. Swooping, Sweeping, Swooning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair arrives at Skyhold, followed by Miriel and Solas's return from the Dales. NSFW shenanigans (no smut, just...well you'll see)

Elodie stood on the battlements, watching the surrounding forests for any sign of an approaching royal procession. She had sent the letter requesting Alistair’s presence two weeks ago, and three days ago she received word that the “King and his procession” would arrive at Skyhold within the week. So Elodie spent whatever free time she had on the battlements, watching for the arrival of her love.

The majority of her time was spent with the Wardens, however. She reminded them of what they fought for – stopping the Blights and keeping people safe. Wardens were about preserving life, not extinguishing it by performing mass sacrifices. She also took her tea with Morrigan and Kieran every day in an endeavor to learn more about the boy. He was quite the curious fellow who was most content in observing and listening rather making contributions himself. He held himself in grace and poise and would seldom make faces that would warp his features in any displeasing way. _Urthemiel, the God of Beauty._ Elodie supposed it could equally be the influence of the Orlesian court, but still, the influence of the old God’s soul upon the boy was not debatable.

Elodie wondered what Alistair would think of the boy. Kieran did not look like his father, instead taking after his mother in looks and also in temperament. But there were tell-tale things about Kieran that were undoubtedly Alistair’s contribution. For one, Kieran adored all cheeses. The boy simply could not eat enough of the stuff and would even tip toe into the kitchens late at night to steal some. Elodie and Kieran had bonded one night when they had both wandered into the kitchen seeking a snack. He told her that his mother was not that fond of cheese and did not understand why he loved it so. He then had pulled out an oddly stitched together puppet of some sort of animal. He clutched it tightly to his chest as he fell asleep in his chair, making the occasional snort. All Alistair.

The remaining time Elodie spent was with Grand Enchanter Fiona. They were discussing how Fiona had been freed from the taint and if it was at all possible to recreate the process with Elodie and Alistair. The older mage had been surprised to see how fervent Elodie was in removing herself from the Grey Wardens, and she had quickly offered her help when Alistair’s name was brought up.

_“I wish to be free of the taint, Alistair as well. We wish to be as free as possible to choose how to live our lives. Can you help us?” Elodie asked. Fiona’s eyes gleamed brightly, brows drawn together in overt sympathy._

_“Of course I can help. I will do all that I can.”_

So far their efforts had only produced ideas and not concrete directions to pursue. It was maddening, and quite frankly, Elodie was near to the point where she just wanted to go home to her love, make long sweet love to him, and fall asleep in his arms. Truly, this was what she was looking forward to the most out of this entire detour to Skyhold – seeing Alistair again. Maker, she loved that man. She hoped that he hadn’t frowned too much while she was away, Duncan loved it when his daddy smiled.

Along with the official letter that had been sent to Skyhold about the King’s arrival, Alistair had sent a personal one. She took the delicately folded parchment out of her cloak pocket, gloved fingers carefully opening it so she could read it for the hundredth time.

_Dearest Ellie,_

_Thank the Maker you are safe. When I heard about Adamant, I feared the worst. I was down a spiral of grief when your letter arrived asking for me to come to Skyhold and I just stared at your writing for hours thinking to myself “Thank you Andraste for keeping her alive.” And then I realized that of course you’re alive! You’re Elodie Amell, vanquisher of the fifth Blight and slayer of the Archdemon, the deadliest and sexiest woman to ever walk Thedas. Of course you’re alive._

_That line of thought then turned rather naughty, my dear. Expect me to carry out these thoughts when I see you (I am wiggling my eyebrows while writing this)._

_Now, some seriousness because Teagan and Eamon are constantly reminding me to inform people of what’s going on._

_Anora has taken ill. Very ill. She has been in bed with a fever for over a week now, and the healers are not certain she will make it through. Duncan is alright, but he wishes to stay by his mother’s side during all of this. Maker, I can’t believe I am writing this, but I was torn to leave them. Duncan is my son, Anora is my wife – politically yes, but still, mother of my child and all that – and while we have not always agreed on everything, it felt almost wrong to leave her. But as soon as she heard that you had written and had requested my presence at Skyhold she ordered me to go. Duncan asked me to bring you back home. He wants his ‘mummy’ with his ‘mother’. Our son is adorable._

_Morrigan is at Skyhold? With…with our son? Oh Maker. I knew we hadn’t seen the last of her, but I never really thought about meeting the little spawn. Oh I apologize, he is probably a_ nice _spawn, he is half me, after all. And you are probably glaring at the letter with that little frown that is actually very cute, with your scrunched up nose and – hey! You would have hit me jokingly by now, with a “Be nice! He’s your son! Your baby!” And I will be…when I meet him…unless he tries to eat me or something. Alright! Alright! Fine, I am sure Kieran is a lovely boy, despite his mother._

_Elodie. Ellie. It was so good to hear from you, and it will be even better to actually_ hear _you. I miss you. Every day. Every hour. Every minute. I know what you are doing is important and is for us and everyone affected by the taint, but Maker I do miss you. Oh look at that, I haven’t said I love you once in this letter. Let me make up for it here: I love you. I LOVE you. I looooooove you. I love YOU. I love you. I love you. I. Love. You._

_I will never tire of saying it because it will always be true._

_Ever yours with love,_

_Alistair_

_(A doodle of Alistair and Elodie is at the bottom of the page. Alistair is hugging Elodie and there are a dozen floating cartoonish hearts surrounding them)._

Elodie sighed as she held the letter, looking at the doodle affectionately. She loved him more than words could ever say. So many people had questioned their relationship, from Morrigan to Wynne to Eamon to almost anyone who knew only one of them well and not the other…but Katra and Miriel had understood. They knew what it was like to have odd relationships that didn’t quite make sense outside of their little bubble. But then again, they were in the same “Hero status was thrust upon me, what do I do now?” boat.

“Waiting here will not make them appear any faster,” a heavily Nevarran accented voice said. Elodie turned to see Seeker Cassandra standing next to her. The woman was currently bundled up in warm Ferelden style furs and coats, not bothering with the frilly Orlesian style that some of the members of the Inquisition favored.

“I know, but I am anxious to see him…any of him,” Elodie sighed as she returned to watching the mountains.

“I was wondering, if you would indulge me asking, Lady Amell,” Cassandra began and Elodie nodded. She was used to the questions.

“We looked for you, Leliana and I, when the Circles began to rebel and the Order left the Chantry. Why…why didn’t you come out of your quest and help restore order? You are a mage and well-respected-

“And a Grey Warden. Alistair and I were hasty to get involved with politics. At the time, we saw no other way and truly, even now I cannot think of any other way to have dealt with the Blight so quickly. Making Alistair king, declaring me as the Court Mage and official Mistress to the Crown…that may have been rash. And truth be told, Seeker, I would have supported the mage rebellion. Everyone deserves the freedom to dictate the course of their lives. I am not the Inquisitor you would want. The Lady Lavellan is far more equal, far more analytical than I. I have always made decisions with my heart, this organization does not need that. It needs someone who thinks with her head and has the ability to be rational even in the midst of a crisis.” Dammit she was making a speech again. It was like once she got into the habit of it, she couldn’t stop.

“But if you had been there from the start…maybe the Conclave would not have been needed and-

“Some other explosion would have taken place killing those people. Cassandra, I understand what you’re going through, and when Alistair gets here, I suggest talking to him. He went through something very similar with our mentor, Duncan. Sometimes horrible things happen, but they happen for a reason. Ostagar happened to forge Alistair and I to protect Ferelden from a Blight. The explosion at the Conclave happened to produce a person to steer southern Thedas back to order. These reasons do not make the loss any easier, and the pain remains, but it helps to understand that there is always purpose. We have purpose. _You_ have purpose.” Another damn speech. She should talk about this with Alistair, maybe he would have some insight on it. Oh _Alistair._ Her hand went to her chest where the all too familiar ache returned.

“You are right, of course. I just wish I could have done something.”

“Cassandra, you did _everything_! You founded the Inquisition along with Leliana and were the driving force behind the Inquisition while dealing with the Mages and Templars. Cassandra, this,” Elodie gestured to all of Skyhold, “would not have been possible without you.”

“You are kind.” Cassandra stammered looking away.

“Andraste’s flaming sword, I am not being kind. I am being truthful,” Elodie was now convinced that Cassandra was incapable of facing the truth of her own incredible efficacy and ability. The Seeker blushed and turned towards the mountains. She then blinked and leaned forward over the banister.

“I think I see the procession, Lady Amell,” Cassandra said and Elodie was leaning over the banister in a heartbeat, scanning the distance for it. There! Moving slowly and cresting over a small snow bank was definitely the royal procession of Ferelden. Elodie’s heart swelled and she could not contain her joy, bouncing excitedly at the wall.

**

It took the rest of the day for the procession to make its way to Skyhold and Elodie had barely kept herself under control during that time. The air around her continued to crackle with spirit energy as her excitement rose. The former Templars would eye her occasionally but never approached her about it. They knew she was just excited and besides, if an Archdemon couldn’t kill her, what hope did the Templars have in stopping her? Regardless, she wasn’t damaging anything or actively doing malicious things, so she went about in her excitement. Cole had popped by her, happily saying hi before feeling her magic and deciding that it was a little too much like the Fade.

Elodie must have adjusted her hair and robes a thousand times before the horns signaling the arrival trumpeted loudly. The gates opened with a great creaking that was then followed by the sound of synchronized marching. She was still fiddling with her robes when she walked to the gate, Rico by her side. He sat happily as he watched the procession enter the courtyard. It was all very exciting with Josephine and Cullen and Leliana all there to greet the King. Soldiers were in their best gear, people native to Ferelden were all clamoring about to get a glimpse of their king while the flag bearers filed into the courtyard. They stomped forward before turning and making a path for the King to ride his horse down. Two large Mabari flanked the royal steed, clad in distinct and beautiful kadis.

Elodie’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Alistair ride his horse down into the courtyard. She stood off to the side, as to not interfere with the formal diplomatic introductions that to take place, but it was near impossible not to run to her beloved as he stepped down from his horse.

“Welcome to Skyhold and the Inquisition, your Majesty,” Josephine said as she curtsied gracefully.

“It is good to be here. I had been wondering when I would meet with the Inquisition, outside of Redcliffe that is. Leliana, it is good to see you,” Alistair smiled at the Spymaster and Elodie’s heart almost broke from how beautiful it was. He looked a little older, and his hair was longer, curling at the top rather than just sticking straight up. But it was him, with his adorable curved nose and round cheeks.

“King Alistair, it has been too long,” Leliana nodded her greeting and Alistair visibly grew uncomfortable as he shifted his weighted from one foot to the other.

“Right, now I heard a rumor that Elodie is here and I know that this is probably a diplomatic faux paus, but you will forgive me if I am eager to see her,” he began to stammer, blushing as he requested to see her.

“She is here, right? This isn’t some sort of trick?” He asked in a way that sounded sarcastic but Elodie knew just covered up his actual fears. She took that as her cue and walked quickly to him, dropping her hood along the way.

“I’m here, Lamppost,” she said before he even saw her. His head snapped in her direction and huge smile over took his face as he began to walk towards her.

“Cheddar ball!” He cried before running to her and picking her up in a tight embrace. She buried her head in his neck and held on tight as he spun her around. A chorus of “Awwww” echoed around them and she laughed. Apparently everyone had wanted to see this. He set her down but did not exit the embrace, if anything he held her tighter.

“Ellie dear, oh Ellie,” he murmured into her hair. She clung to him back, nuzzling into his chest.

“I’m here, Ali. I love you.” She whispered back. A tremor went through him as he moved his face so he could kiss her jaw.

“I love you, always.”

**

While the rest of Orlais was entering Spring, the Frostbacks were clearly not ready to let winter go. Snow still covered Skyhold and the cold still buried itself in Miriel’s bones, even as she wore at least five layers of heavy clothing. The snow at Haven had been fine, the snow after the Avalanche had been horrendous, and the snow at Skyhold had been heavy, but for the most part, manageable. It was the damn never ending cold that Miriel hated. She swore that it was only in Solas’s arms under a pile of blankets that she ever felt remotely warm in this cold. As it was, she was currently not in his arms under a pile of blankets in their bed. No, they were on their Harts, arriving back at Skyhold from the Dales.

“Inquisitor, are you well?” Solas asked from astride his own Hart. He appeared to be comfortable in the weather, with only a tunic, sweater, and a heavy coat over leggings and a pair of warm boots. Lucky bastard. She was in seven layers and still cold.

“I am looking forward to be warm again, at some point in my life,” she grumbled. Solas laughed low and directed his steed to walk closer to hers. He murmured something low and practiced and she realized he was casting. Soon a glittering barrier formed around them, and then he was casting some more. It took a moment but soon Miriel began to feel warmer and as they walked along the path, snow melted from the heat. Oh, he made a bubble of heat.

“Solas,” she purred, looking at him gratefully, “ar lath ma, sa’lath.” He laughed low and bent his head.

“It is no trouble, vhenan,” he replied before leaning in close to her nearly covered ear, “ar lath ma.” She hummed happily as he leaned away, righting himself on his Hart. He was always so private with his words, but that never stopped him from making his affections known. There was no doubt in her mind that he loved her and that he meant everything he said. That knowledge, that assurance warmed her more surely than any warming spell. But the spell was wonderful. She took the weird little wool mittens off of her ears, and rubbed at the now itchy skin. Damn things were not comfortable.

“I say we curl up in front of a fire when we get back to Skyhold. I am sure there is a dusty tome you would like to read and I most likely have paperwork to do,” Miriel suggested and Solas smiled back at her.

“That sounds delightful,” he then cocked his head to the side as he contemplated something.

“Are you this cold at night? We could invest in acquiring warmer blankets if you so require.”

“That depends,” Miriel answered.

“On what?”

“Do you plan to not be sharing our bed any time soon?” She asked.

“Ah, no,” he replied, a slight blush coloring his cheeks.

“Then as long as I have the warmest and snuggliest bedfellow in all of Thedas, I’m good,” she said happily.

“The luckiest bedfellow,” he replied quietly and she giggled.

Behind them a soldier atop a large horse made a gagging noise.

“I’m gonna be sick,” he muttered to the man to his right.

“Never knew the Inquisitor was such a sap.”

“It’s downright disgusting.” The soldier continued just before the man to his left sighed, staring happily at the Inquisitor and Solas.

“I think it’s romantic.”

“Nobody asked you, Jim.”

**

Josephine was quick to rush down to the stables where Miriel and Solas were handing the reigns of their Harts to the stable boys. Solas’s hand brushed against hers invitingly and she slipped her hand in his, warmth spreading across her cheeks as she looked up at him adoringly.

“Inquisitor! I am so glad you have returned. There are many items you must personally take care of today. First is the King of Ferelden. He arrived two days ago, and while he has not voiced any protests about not being greeted by you, our allies are sure to take note of the severe breach in manners if you do not greet him soon.”

“You hear that, Solas? A huge Breach in the sky that is spitting out demons left and right, not a big deal to the Orlesians. But a breach in _manners_? War, it is the only solution,” Miriel quipped.

“Mock them as you will, Inquisitor, they are our most important allies,” Josephine said. Miriel sighed dramatically.

“Our little vacation is over, ma’lath,” she muttered before Solas bent down and kissed her forehead.

“Go tend to the king, vhenan, find me when you are free.” Solas left the stables, walking so smoothly, even in way of the icy snow. Miriel watched him go with a disappointed expression then huffed as she began to walk along with Josephine.

“So where is the king? I hear he likes cheese, should we check the larder?” The elf joked but Josephine just looked tired and concerned.

“The cooks have already reported two entire cheese wheels missing. Two! Who eats that much cheese?” Josephine began to babble as she walked through the keep.

“The King of Ferelden apparently.” Miriel grumbled as she followed the determined but rambling diplomat.

“He has also, of course, brought a full retinue of hounds with him. They have been barking non-stop at Leliana’s ravens.”

“Wait, how did they get into the rotunda?”

“I am unsure, but I am fairly certain it has something to do with our Commander.” Josephine speculated.

“Some women like it when men are good with animals.”

“Yes, but does it have to be so many?”

“Good point.”

“Oh and he has been so evasive about even broaching the subject of creating a formal alliance with the Inquisition. He just avoids the subject entirely!” Josephine huffed as they stepped onto the library balcony, heading to the diplomatic chamber reserved for the utmost important guests.

“He was probably just waiting until I got here-

“Not to mention that he has barely left his and Lady Amell’s quarters.”

“Wait, Josephine, is that where we’re-

“I mean, really, it is completely absurd that he refuses to meet! Lady Amell invited him here for the purpose of cementing an alliance with the Inquisition and he – OH!” Josephine opened the door only to begin sputtering incoherently. Miriel looked into the room and her eyes went wide. Well, that’s the reason Alistair had been unwilling to leave the room.

Elodie was naked and splayed out on the fur rug on the floor while Alistair laid atop her, his hips nestled between Elodie’s thighs. His hands gripped her hips and she gripped his shoulders, his head buried into her shoulder, her head titled back on a long drawn out moan.

“And Lady Ambassador, this is why we knock.” Miriel closed the door and ushered the poor Lady Montilyet back to her sequestered office.

“Oh, oh my.”

**

Solas had kept his painting supplies in his and Miriel’s now shared quarters ever since Sera had stolen a pot of paint and then proceeded to draw phalluses on the sides of the tavern. After leaving Miriel with Josephine, Solas made his way all the way up their room. The usual plaguing guilt he normally felt about his romance with Miriel was at a remarkable low today and he was still basking in the warm glow of the happiness they had found in the Emerald Graves. A smile spread across his face as he recalled the many times they had made love over the course of the past week. How much she had kissed his face and whispered how much she loved him in his ear as she climaxed. It was possible that the old rebel was actually…happy. A strange state for a man who knew that nothing good could come of any of this. Still, a little momentary happiness with her was worth it. If anything, she reinvigorated his desire to restore their people. If he did not, he was condemning her indefinitely to death. Without it, their people would continue to wilt and slowly die as the humans, dwarves, Qunari all ground them into the dirt.

He was so absorbed in thought that he did not notice the low but very present keening and moaning emanating from the room. He climbed the last few of the steps, turned, and did a double take at the scene before him. Fenris stood with his hips canted forward, his head low with long white hair a veil over his face. His trousers were pulled down, exposing his…bottom. But the most shocking part of the scene was the fact that Hawke rested upon her knees in front of the elf, hand gripping the man’s bottom fiercely as she…erm, _pleasured_ him. The woman moaned, Fenris growled.

“You are aware that these are not your quarters?” Solas said, averting his eyes from what he was certain was a lewd display of Hawke removing her mouth from Fenris’s person and Fenris quickly dressing himself.

“Nothing makes you feel like a teenager like an old grumpy man walking in on you!” Hawke said as she led Fenris, who at least was blushing fiercely, out of the room and down the stairs.

Solas shook his head after they left. _Rowdy kids._ He thought to himself before he realized just how old he sounded in his head. It was fitting he supposed, considering the thousands of years he had so far lived.

**

Katra held Fenris’s hand as they barreled down the stairs from Miri’s quarters. Suuuure, it was a weird little fantasy that she and Fenris had wanted to indulge in and they had _thought_ that Miri wouldn’t be returning until the next day. It was really not that much of a big deal to Hawke, she had been caught doing far naughtier things before by much more embarrassing people ( _sorry, Mother, I never wanted to tell you that I liked girls too like_ that _)._

Fenris, however, was a dark red. Kind of like a tomato, but cuter. She pulled him to her to wrap her arms around his neck. She gave him an open mouthed kiss, licking his lips and teasing his tongue with her own. She broke the kiss to move her mouth to his ear.

“Let’s find somewhere private where we can continue, shall we?” She purred seductively. A shiver ran through Fenris before he pushed her against the wall, kissing her fiercely before pulling away.

“Lead the way.” Oh that voice! She didn’t think she would ever get used to that wonderful timbre. She took his hand once more and they ran through the castle, to the battlements, and flung open the door to the bedroom above the tavern.

“Vishante Kaffas!” Dorian shouted as he quickly jerked and subsequently rolled off the bed in a dramatic display of flying fabric and flailing limbs.

“Hey Hawke, Fenris,” Bull greeted them, nodding with a friendly smile. Katra’s eyes went wide, her brows shot up as she spied the sheer size of the Qunari’s-

“And we’re leaving,” Fenris said as he shut the door and pulled Katra away from the room.

“Did you know-

“Are we seriously going to talk about other men’s cocks when you still have something to take care of?” He asked, pulling her against his body and having her hand cup his still rigid member. She pouted.

“But you love cock.”

“Maybe behind the stables is free.”

As it turned out, it was.

**

The day dragged on and on and on as Miriel sat through a dozen issues that had arisen while she was gone. Troop movements, invitations to soirees that could not be ignored, _marriage proposals_ , and so much information that Miriel knew that she would not be able to retain it all. The last remaining fact sat heavy with her: they still didn’t know where Corypheus was.

Miriel leaned over the War Table, exhausted from the hours of decision making and analysis. Morrigan hadn’t made any progress on the magical traces she had been gathering either. Everything was at an impasse until they found _something_ connected to Corypheus.

“Cullen, have your people been able to decode the smuggler’s messages yet?” Miriel, referring to the red lyrium smuggler letters they found in the Emerald Graves. Cullen shook his head.

“Not yet, but we will soon, Inquisitor,” he assured her and she sighed. Nothing. Standstill. While they waited, Corypheus could be doing Mythal knows what with Dirthamen knew which.

“Very well, if that is all-

“Unfortunately, no, your Worship. We still have to discuss the matter of House Amladaris,” Josephine said and Miriel ran a tired hand through her hair.

“All of the issues pertaining to the military have been taken care of, Inquisitor-

“Go, I would if I could,” Miriel dismissed her Commander who nodded and left the room, mostly likely to catch up on his own work instead of tabling it to her. _Good man,_ she thought before looking at the letters handed to her by Josephine about the ancient Tevinter House.

Sometime later, a knock sounded preluding a certain blonde dwarf sticking his head into the room.

“Hey, Buttercup, you up for Wicked Grace tonight?” He asked and she sighed, looking at the War Table that was now covered in paperwork.

“I can’t, but you should ask Solas. Tell him that it would mean a lot to me if he could join you for…I don’t know, guy’s night? Get Cullen too, the man could use a break.” She said. Varric nodded then quickly dipped out of the room, smiling to himself that he would finally have all of the love struck idiots at one table so he could interrogate them.

**

They sat in the Tavern, strong men with stronger convictions and noble hearts. There were seven of them in total and each came with their own sets of stories about heroism, triumph, tragedy, and apparently romance. Every single one, every damn one, was currently in some sort of happy, sappy romance…except one. His story was one of longing, of separation, and to be perfectly honest, unfairness. But he listened, and he wrote, trying to conjure up some hope that maybe one day his story could change.

“She then stood up in the middle of the field, covered in blood and huffing and absolutely disgusting – that’s when I knew that I was completely in love with her,” the King of Ferelden was saying, still nursing his first mug of ale.

“Truly? I would have thought it would have been some time she gave you cheese,” Dorian said, sitting close to the Iron Bull who in turn made it no secret that his hand was on his lover’s knee.

“Oh, that too, but that day was when I knew I didn’t just love her, but that I _loooooved_ her. Like…more than cheese.”

“More than cheese? That’s preposterous!” The Tevinter and the King were getting along amazingly well, but that wasn’t too much of a surprise for Varric. Estranged from their fathers and responsibility only to realize that they were expected to take up the mantle of responsibility, the two had more in common than most realized.

“And what about you, Fenris? When did you know you loved Hawke?” Alistiar asked before taking a large swig of ale from his half-empty tankard. Fenris narrowed his eyes and scratched his neck.

“It’s…complicated,” the elf answered and Varric barked out a short laugh.

“That’s an understatement. From what Hawke told me, it involved killing slavers, baking pies, and reading weird books,” Varric said.

“The pie was the crucial part,” Fenris was actually joking tonight, a marked change from his typical broody demeanor. The man had even _smiled_ …twice. Varric shook his head.

“All of you are completely and totally twitterpated,” the dwarf said, laying a card on the table.

“I beg your pardon,” Solas said. Varric had been surprised that Chuckles had voluntarily joined in tonight’s game of Wicked Grace, but he was not surprised that the man was currently clearing every one out.

“Twitterpated, you know, besotted, smitten, enamored…you’re all disgustingly, and I mean this affectionately, in love,” the explanation was met with a chorus of ‘Oh’s’ and nodding heads as they acknowledged their current romantic situations. Dorian snorted and leaned back defensively.

“Well, I’m not,” he said and Bull sighed.

“Of course you’re not, Amatus actually means ‘hated one,’ or ‘they who I despise above all else,’” Bull teased and Dorian gently elbowed the man.

“You giant lummox, of course it means that!”

“Don’t let him fool you, Qunari, it actually means ‘slave’, the man is attempting to enslave you,” Fenris said, his face straight. No one knew if he was joking or not. “I am also not twitterpated, Varric. Cross me out of your notes.”

“Oh please, you’re one of the worst ones with those puppy eyes,” Varric teased.

“How many times do I have to say this, there are no puppy eyes!” The elf groused inciting laughter and drinking around the table.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of, Fenris, love is a beautiful thing,” Solas consoled which just led Fenris to brood even more intensely.

“And there he goes! All hail Broody, lord of Val Broodiness,” Varric continued to tease.

“You know, Solas, you make some impressive eyes at our dear Inquisitor yourself,” Dorian said, leaning back in his chair.

“I do no such thing,” Solas immediately protested. Dorian smirked mischievously, his mustache quirking delightfully.

“You forget that I spend the majority of my time in the library above the Rotunda. I see how you look at her; it’s the way Bull looks at dragons.” A sudden and furious blush spread across Solas’s cheeks involuntarily and he shook his head.

“That is-

“Completely accurate, come on, Chuckles, we all know how deep in it you and Buttercup are.”

“And what happened to ‘there’s nothing to be ashamed of, love is beautiful’ crap?” Bull asked. Solas’s eyes widened and his ears twitched as he tried to find a way to somehow back out of whatever was going on.

“Ah, just let it happen. The Inquisitor, Hawke, my lovely Elodie – they are all of the same stock. Fierce, beautiful, and completely irresistible. Who here hasn’t fantasized with being with someone as compelling as they are? That’s what I thought.” Alistair said, quieting the mockery. Everyone turned slowly to the king, who was currently trying to fit an oversized cut of cheese into his mouth.

“So much for being a puppet, when did the King of Ferelden become so wise?” Dorian asked and Alistair looked up, lips straining to close a mouth stuffed full of cheese.

“I ‘on’t ‘ow,” Alistair spoke around the cheese and shrugged.

“How did a Grey Warden become the King of Ferelden? I thought when you joined the Order you gave up all claims to titles and lineage,” Solas asked.

“No kidding, I’ve been asking myself the same thing for ten years! Hmm, let’s see. Betrayal…check. Murder…check, check, double check. Oh, a Blight! Cheeeeeck. And then there is, of course, there was a beautiful, charming, smart, funny, most-amazing-woman-in-the-world hero in the middle of it all. So really it’s a boring story. Can’t we just say that a pretty girl who also likes cheese thought I’d look good in a crown and got me one? No? Oh well, worth a try at least,” Alistair prattled on, breaking off more cheese from the wheel he had bogarted from the pantry. Solas shook his head, probably annoyed by Alistair’s self-deprecating humor.

“You really are smitten with her,” Dorian teased.

“If you don’t mind me asking, your Majesty, but why did you part from El- I mean the Hero of Ferelden?” Cullen asked.

“UGH!” Alistair groaned as he chewed his cheese, “please, it’s just Alistair. I get enough ‘Your Majesty’s’ and ‘Your Highness’ to fill all of Denerim.” He took a large swig from his mug. “Right, your question. There was a discussion, but…well, you knew her in the Circle, right? Once she gets something in her head it is impossible to sway her. If an Archdemon couldn’t stop her, nothing will.” He stared into the mug, his expression half admiration, half resignation.

“I understand. Hawke is the same way,” Fenris said, consoling the king.

“Makes sense, I hear they’re related. And I heard that Hawke came here alone.”

“There was no discussion.”

“Ah, yes, well…even so, I know the feeling,” the two men nodded their mutual understanding, taking long sips from their respective drinks. Varric turned his attention to Broody, unsure of how the elf and Hawke were doing, were they on the outs again?

“Are you and Hawke all right? I haven’t heard too much shouting-

“We’re fine,” Fenris said tersely but he was met with curious gazes and a pressuring silence. He pursed his lips,” Unlike the rest of you, I have no desire to discuss my personal life publicly.”

“We just need to know that Hawke is fine, she has always been the person to smile while screaming inside. She always said that it was easy to talk to you,” Varric explained and Fenris sighed.

“Kirkwall took everything from her. You don’t just recover from that and go on with your happy little life, not even her. We’re working it out.”

“And by ‘working it out’ you mean ‘screwing it out’, right?” Varric grinned and Fenris shrugged, not at all phased anymore by the casual references to his and Hawke’s sex life.

“Both, we have sex, we talk, we have more sex, we talk some more. It’s a process.”

“That sounds nice. Elodie likes to get all the talking out of the way before the steamy bits.”

“She holds my hand in hers, tightly warmly, lost in the green gaze. She smiles at me, warm, happy, ‘I love you’. You like the talking before the touching, but you suggest that you don’t. ‘Be a man, Alistair’ he says, ‘Run a country, responsibility, rule,’ run, run, run. You don’t have to pretend here, they will understand.” Cole was suddenly by the table, fidgeting at his hands as he read Alistair like an open book (which his mind probably was). Alistair nearly jumped ten feet out of his chair.

“Maker’s Breath! Is that a demon?!” He demanded. Cullen shook his head and Solas leaned forward to explain.

“Cole is a spirit of Compassion, he senses pain and can read people’s minds to figure out the best way to help them. He is trying to help you, Alistair, do not worry.” The bald elf explained. Alistair settled back into his chair uneasily.

“Right, creepy,” he muttered.

“I am not like Wynne. She was her and it, I am just me,” Cole explained before sitting in the chair Solas moved out for him.

“Wynne? As in from the Circle? What does she have to do with Cole?” Cullen asked.

“Oh, well, she traveled with us during the Blight. But at the Circle when it was, you know, she somehow ended up kind of possessed by a spirit of faith?” Alistair tried to explain. Solas perked up, eyes glistening at the idea.

“Truly? That is extraordinary, spirits of faith are extremely rare. Is this Wynne still alive? I would like to meet her.”

“Sadly no, she isn’t. Wynne passed on about two years after the Blight.”

“Ah, a shame though. Perhaps I will speak to Warden Amell about this.” Solas mused as he took a sip of his mead.

“You know you can call her Elodie.” Alistair signaled to the barkeep for another mug of ale.

“Perhaps.”

“You know, the rest of us have talked about our lovely ladies…except you, Solas,” Alistair pointed out, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Not true. No one has mentioned the young mage girl who visits Cullen around noon every day,” Solas easily deflected the prodding he was sure was about to arise. The tactic worked and soon everyone was staring at Cullen who was blushing furiously and glaring at Solas. Varric grinned evilly as he not so subtly pulled out his quill.

“What is this, Curly? A potential paramour for our illustrious Commander?” He teased and Cullen huffed, rubbing his neck in a nervous gesture of his.

“It is nothing, Olivia is simply helping me figure out how to properly integrate mages skilled in battle into fighting regiments,” the Commander explained, but his blush had not left and his voice had softened slightly when he had said her name.

“Already on a first name basis? How did I not notice this?” Varric said as he began to scribble furiously on a piece of parchment.

“Because there is nothing to notice!”

“Wait, is this Olivia Tremaine? Nice! Good on you, Cullen!” Bull clapped Cullen on the shoulder and laughed as the Commander absently rubbed at the spot.

“You know this girl, Bull? What is she like?”

“Big dark eyes, hair in long-ass braids, itty bitty waist. Turned me down flat when I offered a ride, said that it takes more than a couple of horns to get her out of her robes. Damn classy woman,” Bull was finishing his third tankard and was beginning to lean on Dorian, though that was probably less due to drunkenness and more because the Qunari was hopelessly smitten with the Tevinter.

“Olivia Tremaine, or should we call her Olivia Rutherford?” Dorian asked, eyes and grin mirthful.

“Alright, you’ve had your laugh, now I kindly ask you to leave her out of this.” Cullen pleaded.

“We’re just talking, Curly!” Varric protested.

“Yes, and I know what talking to you turns into!”

“He has a point,” Fenris pointed out.

“Ugh, fine! But I will get the details at some point,” Varric practically threatened. He kept his quill out, though, continuing to take notes on the night’s proceedings.

“Are we just going to ignore that Solas over here didn’t answer the question?” Alistair pointed out. The men once turned their gazes to Solas.

“So how about it, Chuckles? Everything well in Fade Paradise?” Varric prodded and Solas gave him a condescending look.

“My relationship with the Inquisitor is a private matter,” the apostate answered only to be met with sounds of disapproval.

“Yes, that is explains why you were excessively loud in the Emerald Graves, taking her over and over again.” Dorian said offhandedly much to Solas’s dismayed horror.

“Wait, you two finally did it? I need details!” Varric demanded.

“Well, there was a waterfall, moonlight, and a brawl-

“That is enough! What Miriel and I do in private is precisely that, private. I would ask you kindly to desist this line of questioning,” Solas insisted, silencing the table. Varric awkwardly lowered his quill to the table and Fenris looked at Solas with uncertain admiration.

“Calm down, Solas. We were just curious,” Bull said and Solas sighed.

“I realize that, but this is not a matter I wish to discuss with others.”

“Does this mean I can talk more about Elodie?” Alistair asked, beaming. There was a collective groan as everyone, albeit Solas, denied the king.

“Sweet Maker, you’ve already talked about her for an hour at least, we get it, you loooove her.” Dorian groused. The discussion once again devolved into discussing random adventuring topics ranging from the best way to take down bears (by the Maker, why did you _charge_ them, Alistair?), how to avoid being grabbed by an ogre (No Bull, getting grabbed is _not_ how you fight them), and occasionally they mentioned their love lives. They were all pleasantly sloshed by the end of the night.

Cullen was the first to call it a night. He stood up a bit wobbly but made it out of the Tavern on a loud raucous “Booo!” He climbed the stairs to his office/apartment to find Olivia leaning against the wall, staring out into the night.

She wore light green robes with a dark corset with her hair down – a rare sight. Usually Olivia pulled her braids up into a large circular styled bun or even a pony-tail, but tonight they were down, brushing against her waist as she leaned over the wall. _So beautiful,_ he thought as he sidled up next to her.

“It’s a nice night,” he stammered. She startled for a moment before realizing it was him. She then smiled broadly.

“Yes, it is,” she replied before turning her attention back to the mountains. Cullen sighed and joined her by the wall.

“Is…there a particular reason you are standing by my office so late in the night?” He asked and she shrugged.

“I suppose I wanted to see you. Also, this is by far the best view of the mountains that doesn’t require sneaking into the Inquisitor’s private quarters,” Olivia joked. Cullen smiled freely, probably due to the alcohol.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Haven’t you been in her quarters, though? When that crazy elf attacked?” She asked and he shrugged.

“Yes, but it was not exactly the time to admire the view,” he said. Olivia turned around, dark eyes intent as she moved closer to him.

“And what about now?”

“I could hardly go into her quarters and look at the mountains – oh, _oh_ , you meant here and now. Oh, erm, yes, it is a rather nice view, if a bit dark,” he babbled as he tried to make out the shapes of the mountains.

“Alright, I have a confession. I wasn’t standing here for all that time to admire the mountains.”

“Then why-

“I stayed to see you and wish you a good night. Oh and to give you this,” she then reached up and gently held his face as she pressed her lips to his. It was a sweet, tentative kiss that shocked the more than slightly inebriated Commander. Olivia pulled away with a sigh and a slight frown.

“And you’re drunk, I shouldn’t have –  she was suddenly pulled back into his embrace and being kissed hard and fast. When he broke away, they were both slightly out of breath.

“Talk to me tomorrow, when I am sober,” he said quietly, warm eyes full of affection and intensity. Olivia blushed but smiled.

“Very well. Good night, Commander.”

**

As soon as the Agreggio ran dry, Fenris was leaving the tavern. He had had his fill of socializing, and besides he had a warm Katra waiting in their bed.

“It has been a pleasure, gentlemen…Varric,” Fenris said goodbye as he rose from the table and strode across the room. He moved through the keep silently, enjoying the night’s silence and stillness. Once at their shared room, he opened the door to find Katra splayed out on her stomach, arms and legs draped over the majority of the bed.

Fenris smiled, shaking his head. How did such a small woman take up an entire bed?

No matter. Fenris set about dismantling his armor and donning his sleeping clothes. He watched Katra as he did so, smiling softly as he watched the rise and fall of her back. A small grunt escaped her and her body shifted slightly, burrowing deeper into the bed.

Fenris climbed into the bed, gently lifting Katra up so that he could slide under the cover with her. She grunted, moaned, and snorted until they found a comfortable position with her wrapped around him, head on his chest. He kissed the top of her head, holding her close.

“I am yours,” he whispered. Katra shifted.

“M ‘ors, too,” she grumbled and he smiled. He supposes he may be, _may_ , slightly twitterpated.

**

Solas left the Tavern, feeling warm from the alcohol. He climbed the stairs to his shared quarters, expecting to find Miriel fast asleep, bundled in a nest of blankets, only to find her sitting at her desk, wax spilling down the sides of a half-melted candle.

“Vhenan, what are you doing awake?” He asked, walking to her desk. Her inkpot was just about to run dry.

“Backlogs of shit, is what I am doing. You know for all this paperwork and politicking, we’re not any closer to finding Corypheus,” she dropped the quill and then her head into her hands. Solas sighed then pursed his lips. She had enough of working for one day.

Solas pulled her chair out suddenly.

“Solas! What are you doing?” He didn’t reply, simply picked her up by throwing her over his shoulder. She squealed in surprise and didn’t resist as he strode to the bed, tossing her onto the soft mattress.

“I am taking you to bed, you have worked enough for one day, vhenan. It is time to rest,” He shucked off his own tunic before helping her to disrobe. He pulled her under the blankets, wrapping his arms around her. She sighed, pressing her back into his chest.

“Mmm, I love you, Solas,” she murmured, sleep already beginning to claim her.

Solas smiled, resting his chin on top of her head. Perhaps he was as smitten as Varric suggest. Miriel moved again so that her hands rested atop his.

Very well. He was just as smitten as Varric suggested.

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I was originally going to post a different chapter but it turned out to be unsuitable. So I had to go to this chapter which needed to be partially rewritten to accommodate for the new gap. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Please comment, leave kudos, etc.


	36. Of Mages And Sisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lavellans arrive in Skyhold! SFW

The next day, Miriel was back in meetings, but this time she had an agenda.  She informed her advisors that several of her clan members would be joining the Inquisition. To her surprise, the news was met with happiness and welcome. Perhaps she shouldn’t be so surprised, her advisors had done all that they could to protect her clan and had never been negative about her being Dalish. Shit, Solas had been more critical of her heritage than Cullen or Josephine or Leliana. They agreed and decided that they could travel with the soldiers when they finished defending the city from the other Marcher cities. Leliana sent out her ravens, Cullen notified the reinforcements destined for Wycome, and Josephine penned formal invitations to the clan, allowing for anyone who had the desire to join the Inquisition.

It was a week later when the next letter arrived from Wycome. Miriel was sitting in the garden, enjoying a book on a rare day off when a messenger suddenly appeared next to her.

“Word from Wycome,” he said before handing her the scroll. She tore into it quickly, unceremoniously breaking the seal and reading.

_Da’len,_

_It seems it was fate that took you to that Conclave. We are safe, as are the city elves. Your Inquisition soldiers defended the city and allowed for cooler heads to prevail over this precarious situation. Injuries have been minimal and there have been no deaths – miraculously. Surely Mythal has protected us, blessed us by allowing you to become Inquisitor._

_Ma serannas, lethallan. You have saved our people._

_I along with several other city elves and human merchants have been elected to serve on a council that will rule over this city. We have a home, lethallan – thanks to you._

_As for those who wish to join the Inquisition…we have three mages that need a safe place to grow their talents, one whom I am informed you knew of. I would reprimand you, but Maren has saved countless lives these past few months with her magic – so that is one more thing I must thank you for. Ileth and Tonlen are the other mages and they shall travel with her. As much as we are indebted to your soldiers, many of the clan are leery of sending their children with a group of humans to a place they have never been before. I too worry for them, and as such, there are adults who will be accompanying them. Since Maren is leaving, Theron volunteered to help escort her and the others. Elsain also volunteered. Then Rana demanded she go, and since both of his parents are going, your nephew will be heading to Skyhold as well._

_I do hope that once this is all over you will return to the clan. I could not be prouder, da’len._

_Dareth Shiral._

_Keeper Istimaethorial Lavellan_

_PS: your sister is insisting on bringing her Hart, the Royal Sixteen, with her. I understand, a woman as far as she is in her pregnancy should not be marching as hard as a soldier. I write you this to make sure you have the necessary supplies for taking care of a Hart of its stature. Once again, ma serannas, lethallan._

By the end of the letter Miriel was shaking. Her heart was thundering in her chest as a great weight seemed to be lifted from her shoulders. _They are safe…because of me._ She had done it; she had protected her clan even as removed from it as she was. She was not without her clan, not truly and they would be there, waiting for her, when this was all done. As different as she was now, as much as she had changed, grown, it was a massive comfort to know that her clan was well and there if she so chose to return. Perhaps Solas would be amenable to coming with her. The clan was in Wycome, and they could live there, with but separate from the clan.

Miriel smiled at the idea. Clan and love all in one place? It was too much to hope for, but she could not help but fantasize a bit. They would own a little house in the outskirts of the city. They would travel into town every now and then to trade, accepting little quests and jobs. They would travel often, she doubted that either of them could stay in one place for too long, but they would always have that little house to come back to. And in that little house they would begin a family together, with the clan in such proximity they would surely help out. Their children would be Dalish and free, with his freckles and her hair.

_They’re alive. I saved them._

Out of all the people Miriel had saved, saving her clan was the one that made her cry with pure unrestrained joy.

**

It was another ten days before the Inquisition soldiers and Lavellan clan members returned to Skyhold. Miriel had been running around for those days preparing. The large hall underneath the keep would serve as the makeshift quarters for the clan members (though she was pretty sure Maren would end up stealing her own private official Inquisitor quarters). The Halla stables had plans for expansion, and the Circle Mages had been told to prepare for three new apprentices of varying ages and skill levels.

But today was the day. The day when Miriel saw part of her family for the first time since…it had been eight months since she had left the Free Marches for the Conclave. So much had changed in so little time: the explosion, the Mark, becoming the Herald of Andraste, Corypheus, becoming Inquisitor…Solas. She smiled at that, Maren probably already adored Solas. Rana would be wary of him at first, on principle, because hey, overprotective big sister, but she would grow to reluctantly like him.

Today was the day. A weird anxiety had taken over Miriel’s body, an anticipation of sorts of what was to come. She fluttered all over the keep, doing various things, talking to various people. Her body was full of excess energy that needed to get out somehow, and that somehow was doing menial tasks for just about everybody in Skyhold.

But the letter had unfortunately not specified the time in which they would be arriving. Miriel proved to be unable to properly sit still and wait, so she put herself to work at the stables. While Miriel was busy in the stables, a small, thirteen-year-old elven girl walked into the biggest fortress she had ever seen.

Maren of clan Lavellan stood on the old stone bridge, staring up at the large fortress. The Fade seemed to waver over it, as if the entire place was shielded by those who would do it harm; spirits pressed against its walls in a silent vigil. Skyhold stood tall and weathered time well, and it was to be her new home. A _home that doesn’t have wheels, how odd,_ she thought staring at the keep. She strode toward that old keep, a smile spreading across her face.

**

Josephine stood tall with her most dignified and diplomatic smile. The arrival of the Inquisitor’s Dalish clan members sounded wonderful, particularly to Miriel, but with the elves came a whole host of potential diplomatic issues. For one, these were true apostates they were accepting into their ranks. They had placated the Chantry loyalists in the Inquisition by saying that they were children and therefore not true apostates and that they were acting in the Maker’s name by giving these children a new chance at life. Mother Giselle was more interested in converting the elves, Cullen was worried about the potential risk of strain on the already overtaxed former Templars, Leliana was hoping that the new archers could become potential informants, and to add to all of this, several prominent Orlesian families were very disgruntled over the Inquisition’s blatant support of the Dalish elves. It was a mess, but a mess that Josephine could deal with as long as there weren’t any other issues or drama.

She stood in front of the Great Hall watching the gates open for the troupe and felt the ominous feeling that there was something missing. She nonchalantly checked her surroundings and realized that the Inquisitor was not there. Maintaining her smile, she leaned over to a nearby runner that appeared to be on his way to Leliana.

“Find the Inquisitor, _now._ ” She commanded, the runner’s eyes went wide but did as he was told as he ran off in search of the Inquisitor.

The troupe of Inquisition soldiers and Dalish elves was certainly an interesting sight to behold. The soldiers had clearly shined their armor the night before, and they all marched in sync, showing their pride of being part of the Inquisition. Josephine was pleased that their soldiers were still proud to be part of the Inquisition, even after fighting a dangerous battle, it spoke highly of their organization. As the Inquisition soldiers filed into the courtyard, the elves became more visible in their clearly foreign garb and tattooed faces. There were four young elves, two of which who were very obviously children while the other two looked more like teenagers. There were three adults, two men and one woman riding astride a large white Hart. They held their heads high, proudly displaying their tattooed faces in the sun. The two men both wore Mohawks, and Josephine remembered that signified Hunter or Defender status. The woman had short, dark brown hair that was mussed and frizzy from the journey, but that did not lessen the defiant pride she wore in her face. The children all had wild hair that was left unrestrained, their ears sprouting forth from the muss in a sort of comical way.

The Dalish had also spruced their leathers to appear as proud as possible. Even surrounded by allies, Josephine could see them strutting defiantly proud, automatically pressing against any expectation or prejudice people could hold towards them. It was defensive, Josephine knew, but it could prove problematic.

The soldiers finished marching into the courtyard, filing in perfect form. Josephine stepped forward.

“Inquisition soldiers, we are ever so grateful for your mettle and sacrifice to further the Inquisition’s battle at restoring peace and order in Thedas. Your contributions will not be forgotten, and today you shall be rewarded with free food, drink, and baths. You have the day off tomorrow, as ordered by Commander Cullen. So go and celebrate this momentous victory for yourselves and for your Inquisition!” The courtyard erupted in cheers at her words, _good, boost the morale, happy people accept changes better than unhappy people._

“Furthermore, the Inquisitor would like to thank you on her personal behalf for escorting her clansmen to Skyhold safely. The Inquisitor should be here momentarily to welcome all of you home.” _Stall them, Josephine, stall!_ “In the meantime, I would be honored to give you the grand tour of Skyhold!” _Who doesn’t like tours of ancient keeps?_ The elves gave each other looks that Josephine could not quite decipher, but the woman eased her halla forward, hand resting protectively on her stomach.

“I think it would be more prudent to find out exactly where my sister is. We were assured she is safe, yet I do not spy her anywhere,” ah, this must be Rana, Josephine recalled from the debriefs with Miriel. Familiar gold eyes bore into Josephine and the ambassador had to remind herself that this was the Inquisitor’s sister and not the Inquisitor herself. The large pregnant belly helped.

“Of course. The Lady Inquisitor is safe and most likely currently busy, she has quite the inordinate amount of work to do, I assure you.” Josephine felt like she was grasping at straws. Negotiations with the Dalish elves had never been covered in her schooling and experience. One did not negotiate with them, they talked _about_ them. Josephine now realized how problematic this practice was since she now did not know how to properly talk with them. Speaking with the Herald was different – she was one woman, but a group was could always act differently.

“RANA! Are you harassing my Ambassador already?” A cheerful voice resounded through the courtyard. Heads turned, all smiling when they peered their Inquisitor…in a dirty smock. Josephine sighed, _just for once, Miriel, could you look like a true Inquisitor the guests? Do it for me, please._ Miriel’s hair was pulled into a messy bun-like construction on top of her head, making her large, jutting ears even more prominent. She wore none of her usual makeup, or if she had, it was gone now, so her tattoos were glaringly the focal point of her face. She wasn’t even wearing shoes! _Oh Maker, please preserve us._

Rana and the other elves turned to see the Inquisitor walking purposefully and happily toward them. Josephine saw Rana arch an eyebrow and then all four children were running ecstatically to Miriel.

“MIRI!” They cried as they practically threw themselves at the Inquisitor. Even the oldest looking teenager was hugging Miriel tightly. The Inquisitor was beaming, but with the smock and gloves she was wearing, Josephine was willing to bet that the woman had been working in the stables. _Maker, she must smell awful._ Despite the aroma that she was most likely emanating, the elves were ecstatic to see and be near her.

The men reached up and helped ease Rana down from the large halla before making their way to Miriel. The men strode silently, elegantly in a way that resembled Miriel’s own gait – silent, prepared, with the barest hint of predator. They were hunters, the true guardians of the five other elves.

**

Miriel held Maren close, not caring about their mingling awful scents of road, sweat, and stable. Nothing really mattered in that moment, because she was holding her baby sister who had almost died far away without her other older sister to protect her. There was no room for doubt that her sister was alive and well now that she was in her arms. Miriel could almost cry at the relief.

Maren pulled away as Fenavan cooed cutely to be picked up.

“Ohh,” Miriel cooed back at the four-year-old as she hoisted him up and onto her hip. He had gotten bigger in the past seven months, so Miriel wasn’t expecting to be quite as heavy as he was. Despite the muscle strain, Miriel held him close. The boy cuddled Miriel back, warming her heart.

“Miriel? Oh thank the Creators you are well!” Miriel’s eyes snapped open as she saw Dhavon approaching her quickly. He looked the same with his dark skin and hair, eyes that perpetually conveyed overbearing concern. His voice was smooth and felt like a once pleasant but now hollow memory. Dhavon. He was here. At Skyhold. _Shit._

“Dhavon! I didn’t realize you were coming! The Keeper said Elsain would come,” She said in a friendly but panicked voice. Fenaven began to squirm as little boys were wont to, and she let him down slowly back to the ground.

“Of course I came, as soon as I heard that some of the clan was allowed to come here I volunteered. Deshanna wanted to send Elsain, but I showed her that my arm is healed and I am fit for guarding our people,” He stepped close to her, smiling at her as if she were the light of his world. Miriel quickly turned form him and to her older sister, who had been helped down from the Hart and was now waddling over to the little group.

“Rana! Look at you! Look at my little niece or nephew growing in there!” Miriel cooed as she skipped over to Rana. The two women hugged each other tightly, Miriel ever mindful of Rana’s large stomach.

“By the size, I am guessing it’s another boy,” Rana said, rubbing her stomach affectionately.

“Well, whatever the sex, a spring birth promises blessings of Sylaise for certain.”

“Just like you, sister,” Rana smiled. “Hopefully the baby won’t be as rebellious and prone to danger,” the older woman chastised playfully.

“It’s not that bad!” Miriel scoffed.

“You drew the Dread Wolf’s gaze then ran off and became a shemlen prophet then became the leader of a shemlen organization. Mythal protect us from that kind of luck,” Theron, Rana’s husband, chimed in. He leaned in and hugged Miriel briefly.

“It is good to see you, Miri,” he said and she smiled. Theron was the type of man you could always count to be at your back with a bow raised. His kind blue eyes crinkled in a smile as he pulled away.

“And you as well, Theron, I see you are expanding the family.”

“Right now it’s just my stomach, but hopefully in two months it’ll be a baby,” Rana said and Theron looked over at her as if she was everything in the world to him. He bent down and kissed his wife on the cheek. Maren rolled her eyes.

“The shem lady said she would give us a tour, Miri,” the young mage said and Miriel pursed her lips at the thirteen-year-old.

“We don’t use that word here, it is as offensive as ‘knife ear’. Also, please refrain from calling any of the non-Dalish elves ‘flat ear’,” Miriel asked. Rana and Theron shrugged, not concerned about refraining from using the slurs. Dhavon and Maren, however, crossed their arms and quirked brows.

“After they have dealt us insult after insult, Miri? I would not expect you to go so soft on them,” Dhavon said, voice low.

“Sympathy and respect are not indications of softness or weakness, Dhavon,” she replied, staring him down. He maintained the eye contact for a moment before blinking and sighing.

“This is your Keep, we ought to respect your rules, I suppose.”

Maren wrinkled her nose, “But they’re-

“Not so different from us,” Miriel finished the sentence for her sister. She understood the young mage’s position. It made more sense when you’re young and you don’t see all the bad and good perpetrated by all sides. It is a nice world to live in, all blacks and whites with little grey in between.

“Now with that out of the way…the tour!” Miriel announced and the two young boys, Fenavan and Tonlen, stomped their feet happily as they headed off to the main hall.

**

The rest of the tour went well. Ileth had loved the rookery, the boy had always had a thing for birds. Maren loved the garden, much to Rana’s surprise since it was adjacent to small Chantry for the humans to pray to their Maker. Miriel had promised Rana to show her the stables on the morrow and to bask in Rana’s envy at all the rare Harts Miriel had been able to collect over the months.

Dhavon had remained surprisingly quiet throughout the tour, but she could feel the scowling glare on her back the entire time. She still couldn’t believe he was here, at her castle in the mountains…with humans roaming freely. In all honesty, she should have expected this, Dhavon was nothing if determined to see her and keep her safe. And she was just as determined to show him that she didn’t need his protection anymore.

While they were touring the garden, a servant had approached them, announcing that the cook had prepared a special dinner for them and they were to go back to the Great Hall.

“Oh thank the Creators,” Rana whispered, arching her back. Miriel turned to her sister, concerned.

“Are you feeling alright?” She asked but Rana waved her off.

“Pregnancy ankles, I’m fine, just want off my feet for a while.” Ignoring her sister’s protests, Miriel took Rana’s hand and helped her to the Great Hall. Theron kept an eye on Fenaven, allowing Rana to take as much as time as she need to waddle to the decorated tables.

The servants were all beaming at the Dalish, their bare faces a stark contrast against the colorful lines on Miriel’s people. They pulled the chairs out, extending their arms, inviting them all to sit. Dhavon stiffened next to her and she could feel the air prickle with his indignation.

Dhavon finally turned his gaze from Miriel to frown at the servants, “How quickly you make servants of your people, lethallan,” he sneered. Miriel narrowed her eyes in response.

“How quickly I employ refugees left homeless from the Mage Templar war. How _quickly_ I was to feed, clothe, house, and pay them generous wages,” Miriel all but growled back.

She then turned to the servants, “Are all of you aware that you are free to leave if you wish, with no ill will felt, yes?” They all nodded.

“Yes, Inquisitor, we know, but we do not wish to leave. Messere…the Inquisition protects us, and I’m learning how to read. My son will know how to read and write because of the Inquisition.” A woman spoke proudly, her chest puffed up a bit as other servants nodded with her.

“And how much did you pay them to say that?” Dhavon scoffed, but one servant took it in stride.

“Enough for me to feed and clothe my five children and my wife’s elderly parents.” Another said. Miriel beamed as her servants backed up her word, just in time for Josephine to intervene once more.

“I believe we can we be seated now. The serving staff is paid well, Messere Dhavon, and the Inquisitor has ensured that all people in Skyhold are fed well.” Miriel made a metal note to buy something nice for Josephine next time they were in Val Rayoux. Dhavon was still scowling, but he sat down with the rest of them.

Dhavon had grown progressively more sour as the tour went on, frowns turning into scowls that really did nothing for his face. And as his attitude declined, Miriel’s annoyance towards him increased. Why had he come here? He had made it crystal clear that he had wanted nothing to do with her “tempting the Dread Wolf ways” as he had put it. And now he was here and acting just as pissy as the day he left her.

“What have the cooks prepared for us today, Wes?” Miriel asked the servant pouring her wine.

“Roasted boar with potatoes, apples, and a tomato soup.”

“That sounds delicious.”

“Should I fetch Ser Solas for supper, Lady Inquisitor?” Wes asked and Miriel automatically blushed. Maren perked up and answered for her, unfortunately.

“Yes! We are all so eager to meet Miri’s new boyfriend!” The girl cried and all the heads turned to Miriel and she closed her eyes in an attempt to keep herself calm. This was not how this should have gone down.

“Lady Inquisitor?” Wes asked again and she sighed, there was no point in hiding her apostate lover anymore.

“Very well, he is probably in the library by the Under Hall, he wanted to be out of the way for the arrival of my clan,” this was going to be stressful, but it would be worse if she had not invited him. She was not ashamed of him in the least, more like she was concerned about Dhavon.

“Is this true, Miri?” He asked softly and Miriel sighed. This was all happening sooner than she planned.

“Yes, I am in a relationship.” She answered cautiously. Dhavon’s brows furrowed as he exhaled.

“I…I don’t know what to say, I always thought that we would be together.” He said lamely and she looked at him equal parts confusion and frustration.

“Was this before or after you broke off the engagement?”

“I never wanted that, you know that,” he said softly, leaning over to her to caress her cheek. She batted his hand away.

“If it wasn’t what you wanted, then why did you do it?”

“I thought it best! Maybe it would scare you into start acting like a normal person!” He raised his voice and some part of her wanted to back down like she had when she was twenty, but that was no longer her, she would not be silenced for “her own good” or “her protection.” She had a voice, and he would listen.

“I was acting like who I am!”

“Crazy and irresponsible? You were all over the place, wandering from camp and staying out all night. You volunteered for that ridiculous offering to the Dread Wolf-

“What, and you would have preferred me to stay in your aravel, not exploring the world or embracing who I am?”

“That isn’t what I meant! But taking all of these risks, surrounding yourself with human men…do you not see that this isn’t you?” He pleaded but she would hear none of his excuses.

“That is not for you to say! Just because you didn’t understand didn’t mean you got to emotionally blackmail me into being the person you had always idealized me to be! I am not that helpless little girl, Dhavon. I can take care of myself, I _have_ taken care of myself. I am not some creature you get to take in for the benefit of your conscious. I am a person, and I am your equal, it is about time you treated me as such.”

“I never said or did otherwise! But I know you-

“You clearly, in fact, do not know her,” a calm voice interjected and Miriel turned to where Solas was standing by the stairs to the Under Hall. The calmness in his voice belied the intensity in his eyes as he strode forward.

“And this is your new lover? A man who could double as your father-

“That is enough, Dhavon, if you cannot say anything kind to my sister, leave. That is not a request,” Rana suddenly said, taking on her “mom” voice in extreme effect. Dhavon glowered furiously before shoving himself from the table and walking off. Solas quirked a brow as he left but took a seat next to Miriel. Rana then turned to Solas, her face going from angry mother to happy, inquisitive sister. She smiled brightly at the mage and leaned forward.

“Is what Maren says true? Are you truly in a relationship with my sister?” She asked and Solas smiled softly before turning his gaze to Miriel’s. She returned his smile and they both blushed.

“Yes, Solas and I are in a relationship,” Miriel answered.

“Oh please, it’s more than that. Rana, he called her ‘vhenan’,” Maren interjected once more. Theron’s eyes went wide and a large grin over took his face.

“That is quite serious! Be welcome, then, Solas!” The Dalish elf went in for a hug but Solas shook his head, politely declining.

“Thank you. I admit I was unsure of how I would be received,” Solas said nicely. He was being polite and welcoming but Miriel could see the little lines of stress around his eyes.

Rana waved him off, “Don’t listen to Dhavon. He is bitter about messing everything up with Miri. You are welcome as long as you treat my baby sister well.”

“He does,” Miriel commented happily, lacing her fingers through Solas’s on the table. He looked down at their hands then back at her. The lines around his eyes were still there but they were beginning to lessen.

The first course was then served, servants filing in and presenting the warm tomato soup. Solas let go of Miriel’s hand as he adjusted the setting around him for the soup.

“Josephine, where exactly is everyone else? People are normally here for supper by now.” Miriel asked and Josephine smiled.

“I arranged to have them dine at Herald’s Rest tonight, I thought this would give you a chance to catch up with your clan without having Varric or Iron Bull intrude overly much.”

“Oh, well, thank you.”

“That and there was a game of Wicked Grace going on.”

“And I’m missing it? Dammit,” Miriel muttered and Rana scowled.

“Language, Miriel,” the elder sister’s words were met with barely concealed laughter from Theron. She turned to her husband with sharp eyes.

“And what exactly are you laughing about?”

“Oh nothing, ma’lath.” He leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek. Seemingly placated, Rana returned to her soup. Theron leaned forward and smiled at Solas.

“So, Solas, tell us about yourself. You bear no Vallaslin, but you do not have the countenance of a city elf,” Theron asked and Solas’s ear twitched slightly at the prodding.

“I am an apostate. I grew up in a village to the north and learned a great deal from the Fade and the spirits that dwell there,” Solas replied.

“He is the Inquisition’s Fade expert and advises me on all things spirit and ancient magic related,” Miriel elaborated.

“So like Maren and her odd spirit friend,” Rana said and Miriel blinked in surprise. Maren turned to her eldest sister in shock.

“How do you know about Widdy?” She asked and Rana laughed.

“You two were not so discreet with hiding Maren’s magic. What, you think I wouldn’t notice? Maren would wake up screaming from nightmares! I ran interference with the Keeper to keep her off your backs, I didn’t want to lose more of my family any more than you did, Miri,” Rana explained and Maren’s jaw dropped. Miriel touched her chest overcome in emotion. Rana once again giving so much of herself and demanding almost nothing in return.

“Now that the sisters are together, Solas, I have to warn you. They will either be very sappy and emotional with each other like now, or throwing objects at each other,” Theron interrupted and all three women turned to look at him with a singular irritated expression.

“We were having a moment,” Rana said and Miriel nodded.

“You ruined it.”

“You always do this,” Maren commented. Theron threw his hands up.

“I rather be the target than you guys going after each other.” While Rana and Maren berated Theron for his interjection, a small hand patted Miriel’s thigh. She looked down to see her little nephew, Fanaven trying to crawl into her lap.

“I missed you, Miri,” the small boy said. She bent down and picked him up, he huddled close to her chest, clinging to the fabric of her shirt. The boy was normally rambunctious and loud as any child could be, but she supposed now after all that had happened with the clan and moving here to this new place, it made sense he just want to be held. She held him close and stroked his hair.

“I missed you too, da’len,” she snuggled into him and felt him turn his head toward Solas. She followed his gaze to find Solas watching her intently.

Miriel smiled, “That’s Solas. Can you say ‘Hello, Solas?’” She prompted and the boy moved his hand to wave at Solas.

“He’o, Solas,” he murmured and Miriel giggled. Solas smiled in return, making eye contact with the child.

“Hello, how are you?” Solas responded.

“Bien,” Fenaven answered, clearly shocking Solas. The apostate looked up curiously at Miriel who grinned and shrugged at her lover’s shock.

“We roam a good bit into Antiva and most of the traders speak it along with Trade Tongue. The clan ends up speaking a bit of Antivan, fluent in Trade, and then whatever Elven we can scrape up,” she explained and he nodded.

“Ah, that explains it then,” he then resumed speaking to Fenaven, “Yo tambien, da’len.”

“Of course you speak it,” she sighed happily and he smiled.

“Not as well as I wish, but yes, I do. What is your name, da’len?”

“Fenavan,” the boy answered and Solas’s eyes crinkled.

“That is a good name. Do you like it?”

“Yes,” Fenavan answered, sticking a finger in his mouth to suck on. Miriel continued to pet her nephew’s hair, happy to hold the boy again. He was much bigger since the last time she saw him and she mourned not seeing him grow these past few months. The sadness was brief though as she considered that she had most likely saved his life by being away. When put in that perspective it was difficult to regret any of her time spent with the Inquisition. It was even more difficult to regret it when she saw the tender way Solas was looking at her as she held the child. For a brief moment she considered what it would be like if she were holding _their_ child instead of her nephew. A little babe with freckles and ears to grow into. Blue-grey or gold eyes with long lashes and narrow noses. A warm fluttering sensation kicked up in her stomach and perhaps even lower, but it wasn’t an arousal sort of state – more of a keen awareness of her body that had her being equally as aware of Solas and his eyes and how much she needed him. It wasn’t a sexual need but something even more base than that – she wanted _him,_ all that he had to offer.

Miriel suddenly realized that the rest of the table had gone quiet while Solas, Fenaven, and her had been interacting. She looked up to see Theron smiling like the goof he was while Rana had a small, knowing smile. Josephine looked just so damn happy and Maren looked borderline horrified. Ileth and Tonlen were too busy eating to notice.

“Que?” Miriel asked, shooting a stare at her older sister. Rana shrugged and leaned back as she patted her stomach.

“Oh nothing,” Rana murmured, and quickly in her their clan speak, “ _a baby looks good on you, little bird._ ” Miriel rolled her eyes while Solas sat straighter in his seat.

“What did she say?” He asked, genuinely surprised that he couldn’t understand them. Miriel waved him off.

“Clan speak. Rana, you’re being rude, we shouldn’t use our language while everyone around us can’t tell what we’re saying,” Miriel chastised.

Rana cocked her head to the side and smiled sweetly, “Fine. I said that Miriel looks good with a baby, don’t you agree, Solas?” Miriel dropped her fork in surprise and a blush spread up from her neck to her cheeks. Miraculously, Solas took the question in stride.

“I have been unable to find anything that does not look good on her,” he replied.

“You clearly haven’t seen me in orange,” Miriel quipped,

Theron nodded and raised his hands to clap, “Good save, lethallin.” Rana slapped her husband’s arm with a scowl but Theron kept smiling.

“Ugh! Enough with the baby talk, you’re going to make me sick,” Maren scoffed as she pushed the food around on her plate. Miriel shook her head as she smiled. Her eyes slid over to her not so aloof apostate lover and found his eyes were still upon her. His hand under the table slid over to affectionately grasp her knee.

“So were you really trained by spirits?” Maren asked softly.

“I learned a great deal from the Fade and the spirits that live there, yes.” He answered. Miriel quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing. By this point she knew when he was avoiding the question with half-truths and vague statements. She didn’t press him, though, if he wasn’t comfortable with answering, then he shouldn’t be forced to.

Maren perked up at his words, “So spirits can be just as good teachers as a physical person?”

“It depends on the spirit and what you’re trying to learn. For instance, you may gain information from a spirit of knowledge, but not the ethical implications of such knowledge.”

“But other spirits, like wisdom, would know, yes?”

“Yes. That is why it is always important to seek out new perspectives when pursuing knowledge,” he smiled kindly at the thirteen-year-old. She leaned over her food, her long hair landing in her food but she didn’t seem to notice.

“What other spirits are good to seek out then? I know you have to be careful because of demons, but…I want to learn,” Maren was beaming as she watched Solas.

“All spirits have knowledge to give, they just may offer in differing ways. You may be able to have a lengthy discussion with Wisdom on existentialism while Valor may challenge you to a duel which results in acquiring new swordplay techniques.”

“Then what of magical study and application?”

“Again, what is it you wish to learn? Knowing how to lob a fireball is very different from knowing how to mend broken bones,” he explained, clearly ready to launch into a full discussion of magic and spirits with Maren.

“Da’Mare, eat, you can discuss magic with Hahren Solas after dinner,” Rana interjected, guiding her sister back to her seat. “Elgar’nan, Mare, your hair.” Rana lamented as she looked at the ends of Maren’s hair, now covered in gravy.

“Let it go, Rana, baths are readily available if any of you have a need.”

“Thank the Creators. Fen, Theron, and I can bathe after dinner while Maren speaks with Solas, then,” Fen whined in Miriel’s lap but Rana stared her child down.

“Mamaaaeee,” Fenaven whined.

“You stink and you know it, now eat, da’len. Miriel, you have barely touched your food, if you are going to be saving the world, you need all the energy you can get, eat,” Rana instructed and Miriel giggled before complying, eating the delicious meal the cooks had prepared. Solas shook his head, his shoulders shaking slightly as he repressed his laughter.

“What are you laughing at? You are thin as a twig, eat,” Rana then instructed Solas. Solas looked at her shocked. She was Miriel’s older sister, yes, but Solas was still clearly older than her and yet here Rana was, nagging Solas to eat more.

“I wouldn’t argue with her,” Miriel told Solas and he nodded before turning to his food.

**

The rest of supper was relatively uneventful. Rana and Theron gabbed about happenings in the clan while Miriel had been away, occasionally slipping into their dialectical clan speak that Miriel had to gently coax them out of. Fenaven remained in Miriel’s arms through the supper and Maren would every so often try to talk about magic or spirits.

The more he heard from Miriel’s little sister, the more Solas liked her. She was unlike any of the other apprentices at Skyhold, which should not have surprised him given who she was related to. Maren was completely unabashed about her interest in her magic and pursuing in furthering her abilities. If anything, the girl was a little too impatient about starting her magical training regimen.

“So, when do we start?” She had asked.

“You will meet with your trainers tomorrow and set up a schedule for your studies then,” Miriel answered. Maren’s brows furrowed in confusion in a gesture that was completely reminiscent of his sister that Solas could not help but smile.

“What do mean, ‘trainers’? I thought Solas would be teaching me,” Maren said and Miriel sighed in sympathy.

“Ir abelas, da’Mare, but Solas is extremely busy with his current duties. It would not be fair to either of you for him to take you on as his apprentice,” Miriel explained.

“Then who is going to teach me about spirits and the Fade?” She huffed in indignation.

“The mages here are knowledgeable in many areas, and this isn’t to say you can’t ask Solas questions-

“They won’t understand! I am an apostate elf with spirit friends and _he_ is an apostate elf with spirit friends! We aren’t exactly common, Miri,” Maren went from whining to insolence quickly, crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest. Solas leaned forward.

“Da’len, I would be happy to teach you what I know, but right now my talents are best served at your sister’s side to defeat Corypheus. When I am at Skyhold, I will answer your questions and train you. You must understand that sometimes we have duties that surpass our desires,” he explained calmly, staring her down.

“Ugh, fine, whatever.”

“Maren! Be respectful, Hahren Solas has offered you a great service,” Rana chastised. Maren sighed, rolling her eyes before Rana said something quick in their dialect. Maren’s eyes narrowed but she uncrossed her arms and hung her head.

“I apologize, I was rude. Ma serannas, Hahren, I am very grateful for your offer and I look forward to learning from you,” she began. Rana whispered another unintelligible phrase and Maren nodded.

“Ir abelas, Miriel. You have done so much for me and I was quick to forget and disregard it, ma serannas,” the girl continued.

Miriel nodded, “Ma serannas, da’Mare. Apology accepted. Are you going to finish your pudding?” Maren shook her head and handed her sister the half-empty bowl of chocolate pudding.

“Want some?” Miriel asked him and he shook his head, content with his own bowl of pudding.

“No, but thank you.”

**

Solas and Maren were in the rotunda discussing magic while Rana, Theron, and Fenaven were bathing in Miriel’s quarters. Perfect, this left Miriel time to go find Dhavon and talk to him about…well, everything.

She made her way to the stables. He always liked to be with the halla when upset. Sure enough, there was Dhavon, sitting in a chair with Miriel’s sweetest Hart, Boo-Berry, eating out of his hand. He was petting her neck when he saw Miriel.

“Hey, Dhavon,” she said and he sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“Aneth’ara,” he replied. She walked further into the space, feeling smaller than usual. It was odd seeing him like this, upset and seeking the halla for comfort because of her. Back in the clan she would have been comforting him, or he would have been holding her, protecting her from whatever thing he had deemed unsafe or bad for her. Now it felt as if they were miles apart. She was no longer that scared little girl who needed to be protected. She was the Inquisitor, a badass dragon slayer who could hold her own in a drinking contest with a giant qunari and counted the Champion of Kirkwall one of her best friends. Amazing how much things could change in such a short amount of time.

“We need to talk,” she began. He sighed and then turned to her.

“What is going on, Miriel? I don’t understand…you’ve been so different recently that I feel like I don’t know you anymore,” he was clearly distraught over how they had grown apart. Part of her wanted to feel guilty about not being the girl he always thought her to be, but the rest of her was glad to be where she was now.

Miriel grabbed a chair and pulled it up next to his.

“I don’t think either of us knew who I was, who I am.”

“And who is that? Help me see this, Miri, because none of this makes sense,” he sighed, pausing in petting Boo-Berry who nuzzled his face.

“I think we got stuck in the mindset that I was this helpless little girl who needed to be protected. I was so afraid for so long…” it was still amazing to her how different she was from when she was with the clan. She was her own person now, separate from Dhavon and even Rana and Maren…separate from the clan. It was bittersweet, this independence.

“But you can see why we were terrified for you? Every time I tried to picture you here-

“You only saw me in that aravel with that shem standing over me,” she finished for him. He nodded solemnly.

“I never wanted you feel that again, so I did everything I could to keep you safe. Miri, I…I really was only doing what I thought was best.”

“I know, and I’m not angry about that Dhavon. We were both young and scared, we made mistakes. I was upset that you were trying to put me back in that place of acting out of fear instead of helping me fight it,” she explained hoping he would understand. He leaned back, rubbing his hands on his knees, exhaling.

“I understand. It was…automatic, seeing you, seeing all the humans…I guess I reacted before I thought. Ir abelas, lethallan,” he paused briefly before smiling and giving a little laugh, “so…your new man. Kind of went in the opposite direction there, didn’t you?” His joking manner belied his residual bitterness about Solas being obviously very different from himself.

“Oh I don’t know, I’ve always liked older men.”

He barked out a laugh, “Yeah, but there is a pretty big difference than my five years on you and his, what, twenty?” She shrugged.

“Give or take.” He shook his head but he was smiling broadly before his expression turned serious.

“He treats you well, no?” Dhavon asked softly. He looked up at her, dark eyes intense.

“Yes, he treats me well. More than well, he…he makes even the most horrid days bearable, and the good days?” She smiled softly, “I wouldn’t trade those for the world.” Dhavon sighed and nodded.

“Good. It may not be what I had planned, but I always wanted you happy. I just had hoped…well, you know what I hoped. Creators, I sounded like an ass back there, didn’t I?” He asked and she pursed her lips as she nodded.

“Yeah, you can apologize in the morning, I think he has had a lot of stimulation tonight. That and I think Maren just may kill you if you interrupt them now.”

“Really?” He asked with a small entertained laugh.

“Oh Dhavon, you should’ve seen it. I don’t think I have ever seen her so excited as when Solas said he was happy to talk to her after supper about the Fade and spirits and anything else she had questions about.”

“Huh, I would have thought she would ask you to talk after dinner. She’s missed you these past months, Miri. But I suppose her fascination with Solas makes sense.”

“Alright, so I have to ask, what happened while I was gone?” She asked and then Dhavon launched into a whole conversation on how Vathoren and Elsain were trying to convince the Keeper to let them bond even though neither of them were women. Apparently they were actually making positive progress. Shayla was pregnant _again_ , no shock there. When they had left, widower Elthir had been working up the courage to propose to widow Ghilleth. A hundred other things had happened, including the raiding and the taking over Wycome, and she was eager to hear all of them. It had been so long since she had been able to carry out a full conversation about her clan or the Dalish without having to explain every aspect of her clan life, much less speak in her native pidgin. She didn’t have to monitor her speech _at all_ , and that was a blessing in itself. They spoke for hours, laughing and reminiscing about the clan and all the people they had left back in the Free Marches.

**

Many hours later and Miriel was making her way back to her quarters through the Great Hall when she noticed the candles still burning in the rotunda. She quirked her brow and walked into the space, shocked to see Maren still awake and talking avidly with Solas about spirits or the Fade or about magic.

“Spirits embody aspects of mortal nature. Compassion, pride, wisdom, generosity – they all have spiritual counterparts.” Solas was saying.

“And then those counterparts are also counterparts of another spirit, yes? Like Pride is to Wisdom, Rage is to Passion?” Maren asked, hazel eyes bright with intrigue.

Solas nodded excitedly, “Yes! Those counterparts are more common because the mortals in the physical world have become more attuned to those aspects of mortality – and also because they _expect_ spirits to be that way.”

“So spirits are not the only ones gravely affected by the Veil, then. Mortals are also to a certain degree mad without the balancing act of the Fade being actively present.” Maren surmised and Solas looked so happy Miriel thought he may shed a tear.

“I know you two are having fun, but it is very late and Maren needs to head to bed.”

“But Miri-

“You can speak more in the morning, I am sure. You are here to learn and train your magic, but you need to do normal mortal things too – you know, eating and sleeping and such.” Miriel pulled out her older sister borderline mom voice and Maren sighed.

“Fine, but I won’t like it.”

“Remember, da’len, with sleep comes dreaming, and dreaming brings you to the Fade.” Solas instructed softly. Maren’s face lit up and she quickly headed to the rooms the rest of their clan were sharing. Once she was gone, Miriel turned to the beaming Solas.

“I take it you two get along?”

“Your sister is a prodigy! I never thought I would come across another elven dreamer. You…you are aware that is what she is?” He chattered enthusiastically.

“I had suspected, but didn’t know for certain. I am then glad that she has someone so closely aligned to her to help her develop her magic then.” She replied, voice filled with exhaustion. Solas placed a finger under her chin and raised her face to look at his.

“It sounds like it is late for you as well, vhenan,” he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before taking her hand and leading her to their now shared room. She leaned into his arm happily and sighed.

“Did everything go well with your former betrothed?” He asked softly and she looked up at him, surprised to see his face had reverted to its unpleasantly polite neutral expression.

“Yes, actually it did. He understands that he can’t control me, that I am no longer interested in pursuing a relationship with him, and that I am happily in love with you,” she leaned up and then pulled his face down so she could kiss him on the cheek. He blushed slightly and leaned back into her.

“Good,” he had that dopey look on his face, the one he got every time she referenced she loved him. It was the look that made her want to kiss every little freckle on his face…and in other places too.

They headed up the stairs and began their preparations for bed, which included her stealing another of his tunics after stripping out of her own clothes and breast band while he laid back in the bed clad only in loose cotton breeches. Miriel snuggled up to him resting her head on his chest while he rested his head on top of hers. They were quiet for a few minutes before Miriel began to speak softly.

“I have to head to Emprise du Lion in two days, there are reports of people being taken by Red Templars.”

“I thought we didn’t talk about work when we’re in bed,” Solas replied.

“I am bringing it up because I think you should stay here, help Maren and the other mages get acclimated to the Inquisition.” She nibbled at her bottom lip, worried how he would take this.

“Is that an order?” He whispered.

“No, I know better than to give you orders. I am asking if you could do that? For me? Maren is taken with you and I worry about her and the others. I can’t stay and help because of the whole Inquisitor thing, but they know and like you, and I just…” he kissed the top of her head and that quieted her.

“Yes, vhenan, I will stay and help. This way I will be able to prepare a welcome back present for you.”

“Ooo, a present?”

He laughed softly, “You will have to wait and see, vhenan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got rewritten....so many times, mainly because...we're about to enter a plot arc! Yay! 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave kudos, comment, etc.


	37. Six Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miriel leaves for Emprise du Lion and Solas spends some quality time with her clan. SFW

The weather was clear and good on the day Miriel left for Emprise du Lion. She was accompanied by Bull, Vivienne, and Cole. Dorian was standing by Bull, looking at him sourly as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You better not get yourself hurt or killed while I am not there,” the mage ordered.

“Aww, Kadan, are you telling me to be careful?” Bull teased and Dorian scoffed.

“Hardly, I would just hate to miss you making a fool of yourself,” he said before pulling the Qunari down for a kiss.

Solas was not the fussing type and he was excellent at maintaining a carefree expression, but not even he could hide the worry as Miriel loaded up her Hart for the journey.

“Do not take risks,” he was saying as she began to pack in the healing potions.

“I plan to jump off several cliffs and swim in the icy water and-

“I am serious, vhenan,” he admonished and she sighed, turning to face him.

“I will be extremely careful, ma lath, don’t worry.” She smiled brightly for him but he continued to scowl as he drew close to her.

“Is it not my place to worry for you?” Solas asked before leaning down to kiss her. It was supposed to be an innocent kiss, but it quickly turned heated and passionate as Solas showed how much reassurance he needed.

“Promise me you will do everything in your power to stay safe,” his voice was low, eyes full of worry and hard headedness.

“I promise, Solas, I will do everything in my power to stay safe,” she replied before kissing him again.

“Do you do anything that doesn’t involve kissing?” A sassy Maren asked. Miriel pulled away from Solas to roll her eyes at her sister. Rana gently nudged Maren with a soft scold.

“Maren, don’t be so rude,” the older sister admonished and Maren harrumphed. Rana turned to Miriel and wrapped her in a warm hug.

“Come back safe, lethallan,” she murmured into Miriel’s ear. Miriel squeezed her sister close before leaning back with a reassuring smile.

“I will be fine, you worry too much.” She then hopped up on her Hart and smiled. “I am not going alone, we have faced dozens of Red Templars and survived. This time will be no different.”

“Creators be with you, Miriel,” Rana said. Maren’s brow suddenly furrowed in worry but she shook her head and put on a brave face.

“If you die, I will learn necromancy from the Vint and raise you and kill you all over again – just for dying.” Dorian looked over from where he was standing.

“That is not how it works, you know,” he said and Maren just narrowed her eyes.

“I’ll make it work.”

“Enough you two. Ma lath, Rana, Maren – I will be back before you know it.” Miriel then turned to her traveling companions who were already mounted.

“Alright, time to head out. I will see you all soon,” she was then off to Emprise du Lion. Bull, Vivienne, and Cole followed on their respective mounts. Solas watched them leave with a sense of foreboding in his gut. _Come back safe, vhenan, please._

**

While Maren proved to be exceptionally gifted magically, she was also woefully difficult to teach. Solas had thought Miriel to be stubborn but her little sister took hard headedness to a new level. But she was eager and seeing as Solas was the first actual mortal teacher she had ever had, this was also her learning how to learn. It was a challenge, but not one he would back down from.

Maren’s very existence was nothing short of astounding and borderline miraculous. An elven dreamer living outside of the Chantry’s influence and not possessed by a demon. Absolutely remarkable.

He currently had her engaging in a breathing exercise where she had to create a small flame in her open palms every time she exhaled. She had to control the magic completely while also not running of mana. It was an exercise in control, an exercise that she needed desperately as the first few attempts involved her accidentally causing mini-infernos about her hands. Apparently she could not distinguish the idea of a flame and that of a roaring fire.

When he had first proposed the exercise she smiled wryly and ‘shown’ him how much more advanced she was and did not need to learn basic control. That little display had almost knocked a hole in the wall of the mural he was working on.

“Merde! What was that?!” Leliana had cried, looking down from the roost. The crows cawed unhappily, flapping and releasing their bowls as they tried to escape. Maren had blushed as her eyes widened.

“It…it doesn’t usually do that,” she had stammered.

“And this is why we do control training exercises,” she hadn’t complained too much after that. He took his time with her knowing very well that her magic, while beautiful and full of potential, needed to be tempered with a patient and understanding hand. He would push her but be careful to not stretch her too far before she was ready. As many roles he had held in his amazingly long life, teacher had been a rare one – at least in the magical sense. Even slaves in Arlathan had more basic knowledge of magic than Maren currently had. He was supposing that her spirit teacher had taught her concepts and had forgotten the importance of mortal practice. This was why it was so essential to have a mortal instructor in addition to the spirit guides. Even he could admit to the necessity of elves he had learned from.

That was how Solas spent the first day – teaching Maren and her younger counterparts the control exercise while a dowdy Circle instructor looked onward. The woman scowled as she watched the elves but thankfully said nothing. Solas later heard the woman mutter about how teaching children magic without speaking of the Maker must be a blasphemous offense. He was suddenly immensely glad that Miriel had requested he stay behind to help. If nothing else, Solas could at least not make them feel unloved or unwanted because of their magic. He had an opportunity to impress upon them the beauty magic held and that they should never feel lesser for possessing such a gift. Maren especially needed such reassurance due to the sheer potency of her magic.

Solas shuddered at the thought of what would have happened to her if she had actually ended up at a Circle instead of hiding with the Dalish. He had no doubt that she would have been made Tranquil, if not accused of blood magic and killed even in her young age. She was not obedient or quiet, ready to blindly serve the Chantry and bow to the whims of scared men in heavy armor. She would not have been content to watch her fellow mages suffer in silence. She would have mouthed off until the words ‘the rite of Tranquility’ were suddenly being bounced between the Knight Commander and their men. She would have shown how gifted she was with magic until the Templars were suspicious enough to begin to murmur rumors of blood magic. The Chantry would have written her off as being potentially dangerous and by killing her, for either Tranquility or death would be the same for such as her, they were protecting the people of Thedas.

No, it was good that Miriel had hidden her. It was a foolish and terribly dangerous decision, but ultimately had been for the best. And despite all of the girl’s hard headedness and sass-filled comments, Solas actually found her endearing. She was ravenous for information and boundlessly curious. No question was off limits and she asked any that came to mind. He was actually…exhausted from teaching all day. So much for getting work done, but he couldn’t bring himself to be too upset about not being able to work on the new panel or catching up on research.

He looked over at his pupils who had commandeered his couch in the rotunda. A smile spread across his face as he took in their slumped sleeping forms, little Tonlen sucking on his thumb as he rested his head in Maren’s lap. Solas sighed and turned back to his research, rubbing his face in exhaustion. He wanted to get another hour of reading done, then he would notify Rana and Theron of the children’s states. This was the plan, at least.

He woke up hours later to a snort, his head resting on the book he had been reading that now lied upon the desk. He blinked his eyes in confusion as he realized that he was covered by a thick wool blanket. Another soft snort had him turning his head to see that Rana, Theron, and even Dhavon had moved their bedrolls into the rotunda for the night. The children remained curled up on each other on the sofa, sleeping soundly.

This was…unexpected. He was unsure how to feel about this display of…of what he was not entirely sure, perhaps it was something akin to comradery? Whatever it was, judging by the warm blanket draped across him, it was intended to be kind. He sighed once he realized how rude it would be to leave the Dalish to wake alone and it had been his task to help them acclimated. With that realization, Solas adjusted himself so that he was leaning back in his plush chair with the blanket over him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, allowing his mind to drift into the Fade.

**

The second day began with more of the control exercises and then the young elves were transferred to the care of Theron and Dhavon. They were off to meet some of the other elves in the hold and Solas was glad to have some time to himself. He finished the book he had been reading and even managed to work on the new panel after dinner. Satisfied with his work, he retired to Miriel and his room, happy to not have to sleep in a surprisingly uncomfortable chair. He pressed his nose into the pillows, inhaling her scent. He slipped into the Fade with her in his thoughts.

The third day was spent with Maren alone. They were standing outside in a training area working on staff handling when Dorian walked by. He clicked his tongue in distaste as he watched Solas show Maren quick and efficient ways to use her staff.

“Such lackluster style.” The Tevinter chided as he sauntered into the arena. Solas scowled and his eyebrow twitched in agitation.

“Do you find something lacking in my technique?” He asked with the barest hint of sarcasm. Dorian shrugged.

“Oh it is quite a nice technique if your goal was to bore the enemy to death.”

“Ah, flourish. Have you considered, Pavus, that an ostentatious style may not always serve a function?” Solas asked and Dorian rolled his eyes.

“It serves as much function as lingerie, Solas. It is not obvious that something so frivolous could be so useful but suddenly, there she is, standing clad in beautiful silks taking your breath away. Before you know it, she has a knife at your throat and is demanding your country’s secrets.”

“And your point is?”

“The point is that pretty things stung people, have you seen people’s faces when I enter a room? Add magic to the mix and suddenly your staff is glowing beautifully, manipulating the Fade itself in a magnificent display of power – your enemy is briefly stunned as they watch the lights. They are dead before they can pick their jaws off the floor.” As much as Solas disliked to admit it, the man had a point. Maren looked at Solas, apparently waiting for her instructor’s approval. Solas waved Dorian over and the Tevinter then began to show Maren surprisingly simple, elegant beginner staff exercises.

“It is an extension of yourself, think of it as your unbendable arm that can kill people with just a thought and a twirl,” Dorian said and she rolled her eyes.

“My fingers can do that just fine,” she grumbled and Dorian laughed.

“But not as well. Feel those strands of energy pulling at you? The staff _wants_ to conduct your magic into a more potent force. Let it, then direct it.” This went on for about two hours with Dorian and Solas both directing and helping Maren begin her journey with staff maneuvers. By lunch, she was already exhausted and eager to work on her control exercises instead.

Dorian was apparently completely intrigued by the idea of taking on an apprentice and he proceeded to bother Solas about making training plans and yammering on about how they could teach the children different magical properties. But he left out basics and simple exercises the young ones needed to learn before anything else. Solas was about to inform the man of this fact when he caught Dorian looking away, lost in thought with his brows furrowed and eyes filled with worry. Solas let him speak as much as he wanted after that.

The fourth day Solas was approached by Dhavon. The elf was leaning against the entrance to the rotunda from the Great Hall, frowning. When he saw Solas approach he schooled his features into a pleasant enough expression.

“Solas, you got a moment?” The young man asked and Solas contemplated telling him no and he was thoroughly uninterested in what he had to say, but that was not what Miriel would want. Solas gave a small nod and began to walk towards the exit of the Great Hall.

“Where are we going?” Dhavon asked.

“A place we can speak in private,” Solas lead the man to a secluded part of the castle that was currently being reconstructed. Only construction workers came here and it was their rest day so the place was quiet, if not a bit dusty, but completely private from the entirely too open ears of the rest of the castle.

“What is it you wish to discuss?” Solas asked and Dhavon took a deep breath.

“About Miriel, naturally. I was wondering…well, I just…is she happy?” He asked finally and Solas raised a brow at him.

“Did she not tell you she was happy?”

“Yes, she did.”

“And do you not trust her?”

“I do! It’s just…for the entire time we were together she said she was happy and now she is saying that she wasn’t exactly happy but she is happy now. I just…I don’t know.” He finally said lamely, hanging his head in defeat. Solas stood straight with his arms behind his back, watching the young man flounder about in his still lingering affections for the woman Solas now claimed as his lover. There was the temptation to gloat and bask in the glory of being with the women this man so obviously coveted, and if he were younger, Solas would have done exactly that. But he was not younger and he understood too much. So he sighed, unclasped his hands from his back and tried to be as gentle as possible.

“Happiness is a relative term. What made Miriel happy then may not make her happy now. Further, she may now have more self-awareness to know what exactly makes her happy.” Solas said, keeping his expression as kind as possible.

“I just can’t stand the thought that I hurt her, has she…has she said anything like that? Please, I need to know if I need to make amends or…something,” Dhavon raised a hand and dropped it in exasperated defeat.

“She has said nothing of the sort. I believe she has simply grown in a direction that you did not anticipate.” The older elf explained. Dhavon looked up at him, dark eyes sad but understanding.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right…still doesn’t feel good, though,” the man sighed dejectedly before beginning to walk out of the space. Before he reached the exit, Solas stepped forward.

“Dhavon, consider that you now have the ability to find your own happiness.” He offered and Dhavon laughed bitterly.

“What kind of happiness awaits me without her?”

“One that has a love that sets you free instead of binding you,” Solas replied softly. He did not need to elaborate for Dhavon to understand. The man in question closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I think…I think I need to be by myself for a while,” he murmured before wandering off. Solas sighed but felt like he had accomplished…something. Whether the young man would take his words to heart or not was not his decision.

Solas spent the rest of the day with a large group of mage apprentices. Maren and Ileth were being introduced to the group and they had requested he be there. So there he stood with his hands behind his back, watching the young elves’ faces wrinkle in distaste every time the human instructor mentioned the Maker or Andraste. When the lesson was complete and the apprentices were departing from the instructors to have their midday meal, Solas wandered closer to listen in on Maren, Ileth, and their new instructor.

“Maker be with you,” the instructor was saying in farewell. Maren gave a saccharine sweet smile as she inclined her head.

“May Fen’Harel covet your footsteps,” she said. Ileth’s eyes went wide and he leaned back from the girl. Solas resisted from grinning as the instructor fumbled for words but thanked the girl nonetheless. Once the woman was out of earshot, Ileth smacked the back of his hand against Maren’s arm.

“Elgar’nan, Maren, did you have to say that?” He hissed and Maren shrugged.

“What? It’s not like she understood it.”

“But the intent to disrespect your instructor is still present, _da’len_ ,” Solas finally said, announcing his presence to the young elves. Maren whipped around, eyes wide and face red.

“Ha-Hahren! I didn’t know you were there,” she stammered. The urge to grin was still present but Solas fought it and looked sternly down at the girl. He wished to praise her sedition, stoke its fire, but knew that long-term she would have to learn from these people. It was wise to not welcome the ire of such key people.

“Your instructor is also a Hahren, even if she does not use that title. Her knowledge and practice is different, yes, but that does not mean inferior. In fact, there is much to be learned from people who think differently from you.” He said and Maren sighed, kicked the dirt and mumbled something that sounded like it may be an apology.

“I did not quite catch that,” he said and she sighed even more prominently.

“Ir abelas, Hahren,” she murmured. He nodded.

“Thank you. Now, this doesn’t mean you can’t push your instructor. Ask questions, even the ones that seem outlandish. Especially the outlandish ones. Make them think and teach you to the best of their capabilities.” Maren beamed at his words and nodded, newly determined. Ileth was quiet, but his eyes were bright. That boy soaked up more than he let on and Solas finally lost the battle and smiled at his two students.

Solas spent the fifth day in quiet meditation. Or at least, he tried to. Rana found him just past midday meal and frowned when she saw him in his state.

“You didn’t eat your midday meal,” he didn’t need to open his eyes to see the frown on her face. He sighed.

“No, I am in meditation and fasting for the day.” He explained.

“Fasting? At your weight? That is about the most ridiculous things I have heard today, and that is saying something since I have a four-year-old,” the woman admonished. The distinctive clang of a dish landing on his desk made his eyes open instinctively. He scowled at the plate of corned beef and steaming smelly cabbage before him. He looked up at the woman whose arms were crossed over her chest, resting on her swollen belly. She stared him down with her relentless ‘mom’ glare and Solas sighed. There was no point in fighting her. He picked up the fork and began to pick at the cabbage.

“Is there anything else besides cabbage?” He asked and she shrugged.

“There was during the actual meal,” ah, so there would be nothing but the cabbage. Very well. He began to eat quickly, shoving whole leaves into his mouth before she placed a hand on his wrist.

“It is not a race, Solas. Small bites, and for the love of the Creators, chew. You’re going to upset your tummy,” despite the child-directed speech, Solas did as instructed. He slowed his manic feeding and began to actually chew the foul pungent leaves. At one point he tried to stop only to be met with Rana’s scowl and raised eyebrow.

“Don’t fight it, man, gotta eat your veggies,” Theron had called in at one point while being chased by Fenaven and Tonlen. After Solas finished his meal, he believed he was free to return to his meditations – he was incorrect. Rana lowered herself onto the couch, sighing as she leaned back.

“It is so nice to not have to travel when so heavily pregnant,” she said, absently rubbing her stomach. She then turned to him and smiled, “I wanted to thank you.”

“For what, may I ask?”

“For taking on Tonlen and Ileth in addition to Maren. Da’Mare’s is your vhenan’s little sister, there is a certain level of obligation there. But you have no obligation to either of the boys, and yet you have taken them under your wing. And they are quite taken by you, just so you know.”

“Thank you,” he replied and she closed her eyes as she reclined further into the couch.

“They lost their parents, the boys I mean. Both of their magicks exploded when they saw their parents cut down like that. Suddenly the shems were there and then they weren’t.” She murmured almost absently. Solas’s eyes widened. The boys were young, so young, and they had already witnessed such horror.

“Tonlen used to be this vibrant little boy, never stopped talking. He barely speaks now. Ileth was carefree and now…now they are these little adults fumbling in a world that would rather see them dead or assimilated to the humans. So to have you, a man who carries himself so like a Keeper help them learn how to walk among the humans as an elf proud of their heritage…it means the world to them.” Her eyes opened and stared into his. Her eyes were the same honeyed hue as Miriel’s but hers were harder and lines were beginning to bracket them.

Before he could reply, she was standing up and taking his plate away.

“I will let you get back to work then, Solas,” she said as she waddled out of the rotunda. He should have returned to his work, but all he could think about was the comparison Rana had drawn between him and a Keeper. A year ago, or even a few months ago, he would have been insulted by the comparison. Keepers were glaring reminders of how far the elves had fallen, how they had to scrounge through rubble, fumbling blindly as they tried to reconstruct a past they could be proud of. They wanted to find evidence of the great empire they used to be, to emulate the ancient elves and gods. At least, that was what he had thought.

Solas sighed. Different thoughts were beginning to form and take root in his mind. Perhaps they were not as blind as he had initially thought. Perhaps, if it were the right person speaking, they would listen to reason, to truth. And the Keepers were not necessarily blind herders of blind flocks. There was so much more to the Dalish than just their need to find clues about the past – there was a real and tangible need for survival and guidance in a world that would rather see them all dead or worse. They were protectors, counselors, leaders, parental figures, spiritual guidance counselors, respected elders, trusted. By being called a Keeper, Rana had assigned him all of these traits. It should have made him happy to be so respected, but all he felt was dread and guilt. He was a man shrouded in lies and half-truths and these people trusted him, saw him as one of their own. He did not know if it was because of his relationship with Miriel or his pointed ears, but it had become evident that at least Miriel’s family considered him part of the clan.

He felt nauseas and he feared that it had nothing to do with the cabbage.

The sixth day was spent with the boys. Solas worked with Ileth in the morning, teaching him control exercises that he seemed very gifted at. His breathing was measured and his magic naturally bent to his will. He would make a fantastic healer one day. In the afternoon, Solas trained Tonlen…or rather, chased the boy until he could run no more and sat him down to talk to him about magic.

“What do you think of magic?” Solas asked, nearly out of breath himself. Tonlen shrugged. He refused to speak and Solas sighed. It seemed magical practice would be put off until another time. He moved so that he sat next to the young elf.

“Losing those who are close to you is one of the hardest things a person can go through,” he began. Tonlen looked up at him with big blue eyes, eyes that were far too old to be in a five-year-old face.

“It doesn’t really ever stop hurting, but you learn how to live with the hurt. You learn how to focus on the good times you spent with them. Magic can help with that.” He said softly.

“It does?” The boy’s voice was barely a whisper but it was enough. Solas smiled and nodded.

“Yes.”

That night, Solas went to bed with a heavy heart and a mind laden with old memories of old friends and even a family he once could claim as his. He normally would not have minded the melancholy and somber introspection, but tonight he was sleeping alone in a bed that was too big without her. He entered the Fade with practiced ease and decided he would do something different.

He sent a feeler out for Maren, finding her bright, beaming magic easily enough. It seems that he had underestimated the potency of her magic. She was not merely a dreamer, but one brimming with untapped power and potential. It was almost as if she toed the line between modern elf and the Elvhen. But even with her raw power, she needed training.

Solas entered Maren’s dream of a large open valley full of butterflies of varying brilliant colors and patterns. She stood in the center of the valley, head back and eyes closed as the butterflies flew all around her. They flew in no particular direction at first, lazily drifting about her before she raised her hands palms up. He felt the pull of soft magic, a whisper of a question before the butterflies began to fly in particular patterns until two figures were formed in front of Maren. Two elves stood before her, their forms generic and completely faceless.

“What was she like?” Maren asked softly and the first form, smaller and less defined moved forward.

“Kind, like a mother ought to be I should think,” Maren tried to answer herself, changing her voice only slightly.

“Rana says that I have her eyes. Fitting, they say life is in the eyes and I took both of hers,” the dream suddenly shifted and the girl whipped around her, summoning fire at her hands. She stared at Solas immediately. Her eyes briefly widened before she narrowed them and hissed.

“Stay back, demon, I have no quarrel with you,” her voice was clear, enunciated, and far more powerful in the Fade than in the physical world. It wasn’t particularly surprising, she would eventually learn that her emotions were more present, more _real_ in this realm than the waking one. She would find that her dreaming hours were far more enjoyable than her waking ones.

Solas smiled, he was pleased she was so defensive here. Dreamers were…uniquely troubled by demons since the Veil was constructed. The Fade touched mages were the clearest portal to the physical world that they so desperately wanted to experience. And their bright, burning power did nothing to hide them from the demons.

“I am no demon, Ulena,” he said, using the name she had almost been given. She did not move however, and the flames dancing around her hands continued to burn.

“Miri said that in the Fade, you could have been listening in.” She was wonderfully clever to so quickly realize the loophole. Before he could respond, a spirit materialized beside Maren. It took the form of a rather frazzled looking elf with long, mussed black hair and a crooked nose.

“That is not a spirit, falon. His name is Solas but he is not Pride like Pride is Pride…just Solas,” the spirit said and Maren immediately cooled her flames and relaxed her stance, nodding at the spirit.

“If you say so, Widdy. Oh, Solas, this is Widdy. Widdy, this is Solas, but I guess you already knew that. Wait, how did you know that?” She asked and the spirit, _Widdy_ , shrugged.

“Knowledge from another, we spoke a few times. She was much older than me, but she spoke of the man who wandered both worlds and struggled in his pursuit to do good. Solas,” the spirit fiddled with its fingers, casting its eyes to the ground. Ah, so it was a young spirit of Wisdom, most likely not more than a few centuries old.

“I am Solas, as Wisdom told you. She is – was – a dear friend,” his chest tightened in the all too familiar pain of loss. The spirit before him sighed.

“I felt her departure. I was saddened to see her go, but all journeys have twists and bends in the road. Sometimes these paths cross others only to continue in separate directions while other paths are destined to intertwine forever. We were lucky to have known such Wisdom,” the spirit continued. Solas smiled wistfully as he watched the young Wisdom fiddle with is fingers and hover closely to Maren.

“We were indeed,” he answered. Before either Maren or Widdy could respond the Fade rumbled and wavered. The butterflies scattered and Widdy wrapped his arms protectively around Maren. Solas drew a barrier around the small group before the wavering created a small green glowing pocket of light.

“ _Hello?_ ” It was Cole’s voice strangely enough. Small and tenuous but it was clearly him.

“Cole? Is something wrong?” There was absolutely no reason Cole should be communicating at all in the Fade. Judging from his experience at Adamant, the spirit boy had no intention on being a part of the Fade once more.

“ _Broken, beaten, bloody. All around us, red. Blood, blades, bane – you have to come! She’s dying, she’ll die!_ ” Cole shouted. All of the color drained out of Solas as cold horror froze him briefly.

“Solas, who is talking about?” Maren asked, eyes wide with mounting fear. Her voice jarred Solas out of his paralysis and he began to act.

“Cole, do everything you can to keep her alive. Maren, he is speaking of your sister. Now listen, what I say next is very important, so you must listen. When I wake us, you need to go to Commander Cullen’s office, he will be there, trust me, and tell him to send a full contingent of Inquisition soldiers along with the hold’s best healers to Emprise du Lion. Cole, where exactly are you?”

“ _Old walls full of history she wishes to know. Tough, touched, tattered. ‘It endures, we endure – Suledin.’”_ Cole answered.

“Tell Cullen to send them to Suledin Keep in Emprise du Lion. Maren, do you understand?” He asked and she nodded.

“Yes, but Solas, what are you going to do?”

“I am going ahead; I can make it there faster by myself. Now…wake up.”

When Solas opened his eyes, he was in her – their – room, twisted up in sheets that still carried her sweet scent. He flung them to the side as he quickly donned his robes, grabbed his staff and ran down to the garden.

The witch had smuggled an Eluvian into Skyhold somehow without Solas’s knowledge. He had only learned of its presence when Miriel had come bounding into the rotunda one day with wild exclamations of the amazing Eluvian Morrigan had brought. At the time he had been cross that the woman had pilfered another object meant for the Elvhen and perhaps even their descendants, but it served his purposes now and he could no longer begrudge the woman as he thrust himself into the Crossroads. While it may seem bright and blooming to elven newcomers, it was a shadow of what it once was. A place where not only all worlds met, but all magic.

“Revasala!” He shouted towards the Eluvian that lead to Halamshiral, sending out a burst of magic to summon her. He waited a moment and then the elf was striding into the Crossroads. She was quick to business, matching his brisk pace as he searched for the mirror that lead to Suledin Keep.

“The Inquisitor is danger; I need agents at Suledin Keep immediately. No more than ten, no fewer than seven.” He instructed as they strode through the world.

“Understood, but ser…the mirror to Suledin Keep has been damaged.” Revasala said but he did not stop.

“How badly?”

“One crack, nothing shattered,” she informed him and he nodded. He may be able to work with it.

There! He ran to the mirror and it was just as Revasala had said – a long seam ran from the edge towards the center of the glass, but it was thankfully not shattered. Solas brushed his hand over the mirror, sending a small inquiring magical pulse. The mirror responded in kind by flaring up to life with a brilliant sigh. Cracked Eluvians were always a risk to take, the magic could be disrupted in any manner of ways that could be disastrous. But what choice did he have? Without him, she would die and he could not let that happen.

“My lord? We have no way of knowing if it is safe. Perhaps I should go instead-

“No, I must go. I will tell you if it is safe to come this way if I pass through.” As talented as Revasala was, she was nowhere near as powerful as he was – and power would be needed here. He could not bear the thought of losing Miriel because he could not risk his own life to save hers. No, it had to be him. He wouldn’t be able to look at Revasala ever again, otherwise.

He took a deep breath and steadied his magic, clearly envisioning his target.

Solas stepped through the mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it. I will be out of town next week, so the update may be later than usual. Please comment, leave kudos, etc.
> 
> To everyone who has left kudos, commented, bookmarked -Thank you so much! It means the world to me. :)


	38. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what happened to Miriel and to Solas. SFW

The first day of travel had been the usual scurrying down the mountain pass.

The second day brought encounters with bears and wolves, but nothing they couldn’t handle.

The third day, they reached Sahrnia and were horrified at what they found there. The river had frozen over, isolating the village and preventing any trade for necessary supplies to occur. What was worse was that several rifts had opened in the area and demons were now lurking at the edges of the town. But even the demons could not compare to the true terror that was plaguing the villagers: Red Templars. A whole lot of them, too.

A woman in town had incidentally sold her family’s quarry to the Red Templars, and now they were using the place as a base of lyrium operations. They were stealing villagers, infecting them with red lyrium along with the landscape.

Cole shivered constantly from the onslaught of pain and pure feelings of _wrong_ that permeated the area. Miriel didn’t know where to begin – the hold where the Templars were seated, or the quarry where people needed rescuing. In the end, she chose to rescue the people first and had Inquisition soldiers fortify the village while she launched a small assault at the Keep. A dreadful miscalculation.

The small contingents of Red Templars situated in the quarry were just enough to exhaust the party. Miriel’s arm was strained from a fight where a Templar had wrenched her arm forward and away from her bow. Vivienne had been able to crudely heal the jarred shoulder, but healing was not the mage’s forte. Cole’s body was bruised but the boy did not complain much, he mostly tugged at his hair and muttered about the people in the cages. Bull was cold but he wasn’t saying much…of anything really. He had made some quips about the ice dripping down from statues at the beginning, but he had grown more quiet as they ventured deeper into the red lyrium soaked land.

They ushered the people back to their homes, instructing them how to create healing elfroot concoctions. And then they made for Suledin Keep.

She should have brought trebuchets and a full battalion of soldiers because fighting through this was potentially worse than Adamant. The Red Templars fought neither like men nor beasts, instead they almost seemed to work intrinsically as one unit, capable of immediately communicating with one another and thusly crushing any opponents. And the red lyrium…it crept into them, tainting them just from sheer proximity. It drained the already exhausted group and filled their heads with dark and strange whispers. The faces of the Red Templars were warped, flickering and wavering into bulging, distorted visions.

And the Templars were relentless in their attacks, never seeming to tire or even grow terribly weakened from normally debilitating wounds.

They had only made it halfway through the Keep and she had less than half of her healing potions left. Her mouth felt numb from the amount of elfroot potions she has had to consume and she even felt a little light headed.

“They’re coming again,” Cole whispered. Iron Bull grunted as he hefted himself off the ground again. Vivienne straightened and lit her staff with active magic. Her fingers tingled, but Miriel strung her bow and prepared herself for the next wave.

They all held a collective breath, waiting for the shouts of red lyrium infected men, but they heard nothing.

_WOMP._

What was that?

_WOMP._

There it was again.

_WOMP._

It was rhythmic and reminiscent of…no, oh Creators _no._

Giants were problematic at best and absolutely terrifyingly deadly at worst. They were easily twice, or maybe closer to three times, the size of the Iron Bull who was already massive compared to Miriel. And this giant was worse.

Red lyrium glittered at its fingernails and protruded from his mouth by its tusks. A red haze hovered over its face and its eyes shone with red malicious craze. It roared as the red Templars at its feet whipped its legs and urged it forward.

“Attack! Your master bids you to attack!” Its handler cried.

“Run,” Miriel said, backing up before turning completely into a dead run. The giant roared once more and launched itself towards the group.

“Plan?!” Iron Bull shouted as they continued to run through the courtyard, avoiding the giant and deflecting blows from the encroaching Templars. Miriel fired arrows haphazardly, trying to kill any Templar.

“Perhaps if we kill the handler?” Vivienne shouted as she warped the cold around them so that it was focused on their enemies.

“Good. Freeze the handler. Bull, distract the giant. Cole, to the handler, I will try to take care of the rest of the Templars,” Miriel commanded and they did as instructed. Vivienne froze the handler to his spot while Cole slipped into the shadows and Miriel provided cover with a barrage of arrows. Iron Bull ran at the giant and managed to dodge swings downward and stomping feet. He even landed a few hits with his axe. The handler burst into a thousand red and white crystals as Cole rammed his daggers into his frozen body.

The giant roared as it frenzied, swinging wildly at Bull and anyone who was nearby. Miriel fired an arrow into the last of the templar’s skulls and looked around for a place to climb up. Ah! There!

She grabbed a templar’s broadsword and then climbed up one of the tall, leaning trees in the courtyard. If she could just get up to where the giant’s head was, she could leap onto it and drive the sword home. The creature would die, surely.

Down on the ground, the Iron Bull deflected the giant’s hand at it reached down. Blood gushed out of the palm, covering Bull. The giant cried out in pain and lurched backwards, its hand moving back quickly.

Just as Miriel jumped.

Air whooshed out of her lungs when the hand slammed into her, smacking her away. It was an odd feeling to feel the pain of the injury but also the sudden blanket of warmth and tightness from protective magic. _Vivienne…I should thank her,_ she thought absently before losing consciousness as she plummeted to the ground.

**

The world swirled around him in chaos, trying to form into solid shapes only to shimmer and waver indecisively. He urged the magic to solidify and move him to Suledin Keep. He was grateful that he had visited this place in his youth to know what to will the forms into and he thought of the ancient great hall and imagined what it must look like now – partially ruined, covered in snow with invading roots of now great trees. He pushed the magic further and further, warping it until it finally coalesced into shapes and structures.

Solas stumbled out of the Eluvian gasping for breath as he broke through the waves of magic. His lungs burned from being deprived of air for so long but he did not allow himself much time to recover. He had to find Miriel, quickly.

The room he had fallen into was dark, cold, but vaguely familiar. Taking a deep breath, he staggered to his feet and sent out a burst of energy with a message of all-clear through the Eluvian back to Revasala. Hopefully she would bring the reinforcements soon.

Staff in hand and cloak pulled tightly against him, Solas moved out of the room into an equally dark corridor. He moved as quietly as possible, softening his feet but still keeping a quick pace. He reached out with his magic to sense if Miriel was indeed here, desperate to feel her energy.

_Please be alive,_ he chanted in his head as he searched the magic around him…. It was waylaid by other, stronger pulses, ones he did not examine for too long, desperate to find Miriel.

The Mark responded and he felt the faint thrum in his veins. She was most definitely in Suledin Keep, then, and judging by how faint the pulse of magic was emanating from the Mark…. His heart clenched and he set a quicker pace.

Solas sent out another feeler and followed the pulse, needing to find her before she deteriorated further. He slunk through the Keep until he saw the faint glow of a torch ahead…along with the hint of red. _Red Templars._ So that is what they had been fighting. Her injuries then could be anything ranging from sword wounds to arrows to…to infection. _You must reach her first!_ His mind cried.

He hid in the shadows as the soldier walked through the hall, his armor clanking loudly. Solas was almost a ghost as he maneuvered through the halls. If his memory served him correctly, the main courtyard was ahead. And if knowledge of battle tactics and keep fortification served him correctly, that courtyard was sure to be heavily fortified. It was, however, the quickest route to Miriel…but was it truly quick if he had to take the time to kill all of those Templars? Also, could he afford to expend that amount of energy? Most likely not.

He thought back to when he had visited Suledin previously, vaguely remembering there being a hallway that curved around the courtyard and lead to a servant’s quarters. It should be by the main dining hall, which should be just up from the courtyard. Solas turned and walked up a flight of stairs, heading towards what he hoped was the dining hall. At the top of the stairs he was confronted with a selection of doors and two long hallways. From the chattering and clanking of metal, he suspected that door lead to the dining hall while the others were either various places of storage, or perhaps one was the servant’s hallway he needed.

Solas took a deep breath and approached each door with a tentative ear and even more cautious hand. Trusting his instincts, Solas chose a door and was rewarded with the sweet sight of a run-down hallway lacking all of the decorations of the previous halls. This was what he was looking for.

He took off down the corridor, warping the fade around him to speed his footsteps quickly and quietly through the fortress. At the end of the corridor were two more doors, he quickly chose one. This time, he chose poorly.

The courtyard was covered in blindingly white snow and trees did indeed sprout from the cracks in the foundation. And there were red Templars everywhere. A man stood in the center, clear and clean from any of the red lyrium somehow. When he turned to Solas, he immediately knew why.

“ _Imshael_ ,” the elf growled, lighting his staff with hostile magic. The spirit smiled as he sighed and opened his arms in welcome.

“Look men, we have a visitor! None other than the Dread Wolf himself. _Andaran atishan, Fen’Harel._ ” The creature mocked. Before Solas could reply, Imshael was speaking once more, “I take it you are here for the Inquisitor, yes? Such a terrible blow she took, falling like that.”

“What have you done to her?” Solas demanded.

“Me? I have done nothing. I cannot be held completely accountable for the decisions these creatures make – bound to the lyrium you know. And giants are affected so…interestingly.” A red lyrium…giant? It was worse than he thought.

“Where is she, demon?” Solas growled and Imshael sighed.

“Such an ugly word. You should know better, _Solas_.” The creature taunted. Solas had immediately brought up all of his mental barriers and even a subtle physical one, he knew not to trust or deal with Imshael. He knew the consequences of dealing with such as him.

Imshael clicked his tongue, “Oh come now, Solas, must you be so rude? Drawing up those barriers like that.”

“I will not ask again. Where. Is. The. Inquisitor?” Solas demanded but the demon just smiled and gave a slight shrug.

“So demanding. You were much more polite when you were younger,” Solas’s scowl deepened, his eyes hardened as he began to draw combat magicks close to his body. Imshael gave a dramatic sigh.

“Very well. As I see it, you have a choice to make, dear _wolf._ You can spend all of your precious energy and power on trying to kill me and my associates, or you can let us go and use your power to save your beloved. And if my wards are correct, which they always are, it doesn’t seem like you have much time to decide.” Damn choice demon. It wasn’t even a choice, it was a sacrifice framed as a choice and Imshael _knew_ it. It was irrational to kill the demon regardless of Solas’s personal feelings for Miriel. Killing Imshael was short game, keeping Miriel alive was long game – and Solas always played for the long game.

He let the combat magic dissipate, but kept his barriers up even as he straightened.

“Take me to her, then you are free to go.” Imshael beamed at the choice.

“Well done! Brutus, take our intrepid elf to the Inquisitor. I am sure she is not long for this world if we dally.”

“No, you take me to her Imshael. No negotiating,” Solas countered. The demon narrowed his eyes briefly before adopting a saccharine smile.

“Very well, follow me.” Imshael strode from the room and Solas followed, keeping his staff slightly angled towards the demon’s back. He did not let his barriers slip even the slightest fraction as he followed the spirit through the keep. Shadows dashed through the keep quickly and quietly, far too fast and elegant for it to be any red Templar.

The group was not far from the main courtyard. They were holed up in an offshoot of one of the preliminary courtyard entrances, huddled protectively around a small, pale woman, snow stained red with blood and lyrium. Solas’s eyes widened but he resisted the urge to dash forward to save her.

“There she is, trying so desperately to hold on. She is quite stubborn, your woman,” Imshael commented before quirking a brow at Solas.

“You will honor your end of the bargain, correct?”

“Yes, I am letting you go,” Solas said. Measuring his words carefully as more shadows continued to flit on the upper ramparts. Imshael beamed as Solas began to walk towards the alcove, leaving the demon alone on the landing.

He did not need to look to see who lobbed the ball of lightning at Imshael to know that Revasala was successful in bringing agents through the Eluvian.

“You dare go back on your word, Fen’Harel?!” Imshael roared. Solas couldn’t help but smile slyly as he continued to his trek.

“I said _I_ would let you go, I made no such promise for any other,” he answered simply as agents flooded the courtyard, attacking red Templars and unleashing a barrage upon Imshael. Solas felt the world around him bend and heave as the demon took different forms to fight the onslaught of arrows, blades, and magic.

“You chose the wrong target, demon,” Revasala growled before driving her staff down with a great cry of magic, rending the demon from the fade completely. Deprived of his power, Revasala was then able to whip her staff back and plunge the bladed end of her staff into his chest. Light poured from the wound and Imshael screamed as he was torn apart from the magical light Revasala forced into his body.

Solas hurried across the way to the alcove as the battle raged. Bringing Revasala had been a wonderful idea, and he made a mental note to relocate her to a place of battle after this incident – the woman had lost none of her prowess.

He entered the small space where Vivienne held shaking hands over a barely conscious Miriel. There were a dozen empty bottles scattered everywhere – some still glowed with droplets of lyrium while others scented the air with the pungent elfroot sweetness.

“Solas! Get over there and help her,” the Iron Bull said from his corner. His hand rested over a bandaged side and he looked pale, but Solas’s focus was firmly on Miriel. Her skin was nearly white, matching the pale Vallaslin on her face. Her hair was a matted mess but he was focused on the fact that she wasn’t moving her body _at all_. Her eyelids fluttered as he approached, crouching down so he could assess the damage. Vivienne had managed to stop the bleeding, but the rest…her body was bent, broken, and while the Enchanter’s magic was impressive by modern standards, it would never be enough to save Miriel from dying from her extensive internal injuries.

“S….Sol….as?” Miriel muttered, trying to look at him.

“I am here, vhenan,” he whispered quietly, touching her cheek.

“Ar….lath…..ma,” she hissed out.

“I love you as well, ma vhenan. I will not let you die,” he said before taking a deep breath and holding his palms out. He closed his eyes and he felt himself draw into and out of the Fade at the same time.

He called on all of the spirits that still clung to this ancient place – Valor, Honor, Perseverance, Aid. He wrapped his magicks in and out of them, asking them to imbue him with all of the power necessary to flood Miriel’s system with healing. Several of the spirits seemed to recognize him or at least sympathize to the point where they coiled around his arms and tapped into his mana directly.

He took another deep breath and with the exhale, he let out a tempered wave of healing over her body.

Miriel screamed as her bones began to correct themselves. She screamed as her blood flow had to be reorganized. She began to flail when motion capabilities returned to her. And all he could do was watch and continue his treatment, his _torture_ , to save her.

Miriel begged for it to stop. For all the pain to stop that she could die, it would be fine if she died. She pleaded for her death over and over again. Bull had to hold her down so her writhing didn’t cause more harm.

The process was slow, the battle outside long since dead by the time Miriel stopped screaming and flailing from the pain. Solas fell back with a gasp. He thanked the spirits for their help as they left him, leaving him nigh drained. He took several breaths, resting his head back against the cold wall.

“She will live,” Cole whispered as he touched Miriel’s forehead. The woman was currently unconscious, hair plastered in a disarray on her sweat drenched face. But her color had returned and her breathing was no longer shallow. She would need further healing, but she would live and in that moment…that was all that mattered.

“Shit,” Bull grunted as he fell back. Vivienne said nothing but she passed Solas a small handkerchief. Solas looked at her startled and she sighed.

“You have been crying, dear,” she said simply before resting her head against the wall, closing her eyes. Solas touched his cheeks, surprised to find them wet and sticky with tears. He cleaned his face quickly with the small piece of cloth, wiping away the tears just in time for Revasala to enter the alcove. She was doused in blood splatter and wore a scowl almost as well as he did as she surveyed the room.

“We have cleared the keep, what do you want to do with them?” She asked in Elvhen. He sighed, looking at his friends who were now staring questioningly at both him and Revasala.

“Take their memory, replace it with one that works well,” he said before heaving himself to his feet. Revasala nodded and held out her hands.

“Forget,” she whispered and they all fell back down as she worked their memories.

Solas walked tiredly to another small space where he lit a fire and waited for Inquisition forces to arrive.

**

Revasala was perched above the small alcove where the Inquisitor and her companions rested. She looked into the small space, and wondered at the small woman’s ability to bring Fen’Harel to his knees. So far, she had been unimpressed with the woman. The Inquisitor was small, frail – easily broken.

And yet she had continued to live even when smacked back by a red lyrium infected giant. Curious. For such a modern woman she was…incredibly sturdy and capable. And Revasala had never known her lord to walk so hastily into anything before, so why would he start now?

What did this woman have that was so irresistible, so compelling that her lord of thousands of years would begin to lose sight of his ultimate goal because of her? It was a bit maddening, really, to have him so infatuated with her. He was constantly distracted by her, thinking about ways to help her and her inquisition, even when knowing that ultimately it most likely did not matter.

Corypheus was a stepping stone, insignificant in the long run.

And yet….

Revasla moved from her roost to move down to where her lord was sitting at the fire, nibbling on a piece of bread. He was hunched over, wrapped in a cloak two sizes too big for him and still huddling alarmingly close to the fire. His feet were even clad in oddly sized boots and a scarf was wrapped around his head.

Her brow furrowed at the odd scene before her. He looked…weak. Not frail, but certainly not the strong, unwavering lord she had come to know and loyally follow. She stepped up behind him and exhaled long and slow. She let warmth radiate out from her and her lord sighed, unwrapping his head but not removing anything else.

“Thank you,” he said simply and she nodded, quickly writing a warmth rune into the dirt at her feet before taking a seat next to him.

“Healing has always taken much from you, I wish to be of service,” she said plainly.

“I have longed to be as good at creation as I am at destruction,” he whispered, his expression and tone distant. Revasala pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.

“I do not recall the great Fen’Harel ever being so maudlin,” she drawled.

He looked at her from the corner of his eye and sighed, “I have not ever been this old and weary.” The fire crackled and he offered her a piece of bread. She took the soft food and played with it for a moment before looking at him again.

“She has changed you,” she stated, not hiding her disapproval of such change. He took a deep breath but he smiled.

“She has, and for the better. This world…if it can produce those like her, and those around her, then perhaps it is worth some consideration,” she leaned back at his statement, horrified.

“You can’t!” Panic rose within her. He could not be serious!

“There is a plan for a reason! This world is a mistake born of desperation. There was little choice then and there are fewer choices now, you cannot just turn your back on your people!” She growled.

Her lord frowned at her and sighed, “I am not turning my back on them, but merely contemplating that the original plan may not be the best course of action –

“What other course of action is there? The Veil _must_ come down! The Evanuris must be slain and the old world restored and rebuilt to be a bastion of freedom and hope. How can you dash that hope? Because of some woman who will not even live past her first century?!”

“I will not have you speak Miriel like this!”

“She is mortal, Fen’Harel! She is at most a temporary distraction from your duty, and potentially a hindrance to what we wish to accomplish! You must see that! She is doomed no matter your actions! _She will die!_ ” She exclaimed. She needed him to understand that Miriel was temporary, fleeting and that whatever happiness he found with her could not compare to the happiness felt by those counting on them to rebuild their world.

Solas stood from his log, scowling deeply. His eyes were tired and his posture weak, but still he commanded an air of strength and menace. He loomed impressively over her and she felt her ears twitch.

“You think I do not realize this? I am very much aware of her mortality, Revasala. But who she is, what she has done still matters. And it will continue to matter long after she is gone. She is my _vhenan_ , and I would have you respect that sentiment if you will not respect her.” He then turned and walked into the small alcove to hold his precious inquisitor.

Worry and dread filled Revasala as she stood and resumed her patrol.

This did not bode well for the Dread Wolf and their little faction. It did not bode well at all.

**

It took the Inquisition soldiers three days to reach the keep. In that time, Solas had used much of his power to continue restoring Miriel. She had grown increasingly more aware as the days passed on, for which he was glad. She would even occasionally tease him or try to sneak a kiss. He found himself smiling and pressing his lips gently against her lips or forehead or cheek. He never strayed far from her except for when Revasala had signaled she needed to speak with him.

He tensed briefly before remembering that she had been reconstructing the group’s memory for the past few days and he needed to know the story. And while she had said things that he…that he did not care for, he needed her and there was a good chance Miriel would not be alive now if it had not been for Revasala’s timely arrival.

“I have them believing that they were able to clear out all of the Templars and giants themselves. It was Imshael himself that wounded Miriel so, nearly killing her. Cole entered the Fade, told you and you came just in time to save her from her certain death.” She whispered to him by the Eluvian. The rest of the group was sleeping and he was watching his agents file through the mirror to return to their stations.

“Good. Ma serannas, lethallan…I do not know what would have happened if you had not shown when you had,” he praised her and she closed her eyes, dipping her head down in gratitude.

“Fen’Harel ma ghilana,” she whispered. He sighed, placing a hand on top of her bent head.

“I am no god,” he told her and she shivered.

“For which I am forever grateful,” she murmured. Solas pursed his lips but said nothing as she raised her head and stepped through the Eluvian. It was a discussion to be had later.

When the Inquisition forces finally arrived, they secured the keep quickly and without hesitation. There was nothing to be fought, but the area had to be secured. Cullen worked his men efficiently as he commanded them to then secure the quarry and look for any clues of Samson.

“Where is she?” Elodie hopped of her horse and began to walk quickly next to Solas he took her to Miriel.

“This way. She has improved, but I am no healer,” he told her. She nodded.

“Give me a run-down of injuries sustained.”

“Three broken vertebrae, now healed but with several herniated discs. Broken left femur and tibia – now healed. Right lung was punctured by one of the five cracked ribs. Fractures are healed but bruising remains. Severe concussion, partially resolved. Right foot bones shattered and need further attention, she is still unable to walk and will need to be carried back to Skyhold.”

“You say you’re not a healer, but you’ve resolved a lot of issues.”

“Do not praise me until you have assessed her,” he instructed. They reached Miriel who smiled at them.

“Elodie! So nice to see you! I am so sorry to pull you from Alistair.” Her voice was husky and somewhat strained, and still she tried to push herself up to greet the woman.

“Hush, and he’s here helping secure the fortress. I am going to need you to remain still.” Elodie urged her back.

“Psh, not hard to do,” she quipped as Elodie began to asses her.

“Alright, Miri, first we have to heal this foot. It’s going to hurt, but bear with me. On the count of three. One…two…three,” Elodie then began to chant and move her hands around Miriel’s foot.

Even with the Veil in place and her magic not coming close to what it could be, Elodie’s magic was amazingly powerful. While the spirits had responded to Solas’s plea for help, imbuing him with the strength to help her, Elodie’s training as spirit healer made her far more talented than he in this area. The area around her glowed with fuzzy light as spirits coalesced around her and Miriel, creating a sphere of power that Elodie had complete access to and could channel into healing Miriel. Magical overflow filled the alcove, melting the snow with the healing warmth, plants beginning to sprout quickly as they felt the touch of a mage gifted in the creation and healing of life.

Miriel tried to put on a brave face but ended up screaming as the bones cracked and realigned and healed. That took an hour. Completing healing her ribs took another hour. By the end of that, Elodie was spent and needed magical rest. She petted Miriel’s head and praised the woman and promised to resume healing soon.

“You shouldn’t threaten the inquisitor,” Miriel whispered and Elodie smiled softly.

“Rest, Miri, you need it,” Elodie ran her hand over Miriel’s hair and the woman nodded.

“Fine, I was tired anyways.” The healer smiled and rose from her sitting position and gestured for Solas to follow her out of the alcove. Elodie walked a bit before taking Solas’s arm and pulling him into a small room.

“What threw her? A demon? Demons are not one for _throwing_ , particularly ones of Desire or Choice.” Elodie whispered fiercely.

“It was a red lyrium infected giant, I believe.” He answered and her eyes went wide.

“Oh Maker,” she ran her hand through her short hair. Her amazement quickly turned to confusion and suspicion though as she turned toward him.

“How did you arrive so quickly?” She asked.

“I am a Dreamer, Warden. I can travel through the Fade.”

“You expect me to believe that you entered the Fade physically and exited it _without_ Miriel’s assistance when you have no prior history of performing such a feat?”

“And how do you know that it is not in my history?”

“Are you saying that it is and that you can enter the Fade physically at will?”

“If I could, would I ever admit to it?”

“Then how in Andraste’s name did you get here?” Elodie demanded and he sighed.

“I drank several lyrium draughts and Fade stepped through the mountains, satisfied?” He bit back. She stared at him long and hard before taking a deep breath.

“Very well, if you refuse to tell the truth, I suppose that is that. It is fortunate that you arrived when you did, however you got here. Maker, these past few days…” she rubbed her face and he saw the weariness plaguing her. He knew that weariness all too well and he sympathized with the woman. She was far too young to have seen so much and to have saved so much….

She fell back until she was slumped against the wall. She closed her eyes and leaned back.

“Can the world just…not create anything atrocious for just a little while? Just…let us rest. Maker, let us rest,” she pleaded softly. Solas took a deep breath and rested his hand on her shoulder.

“You are strong, Warden Amell, whatever atrocities the world creates, it is comforting to know that there are those who will always stand against them,” he told her. She opened her eyes, green eyes that were too old to be resting in such a young face. She did not try to hide the exhaustion, the soul-crushing responsibility she must have felt for these past years. Solas knew that responsibility, the pain and the guilt associated with it.

“But how long until my legs break? I am only a mortal woman, Solas,” she whispered.

“Then it is good to know that there are others who will stand with you,” he replied. She quirked a brow.

“Katra? Miriel? We are just three women.”

“Yes three women. One stopped a Blight. One held a city together after pulling herself up from nothing. And another holds the fate of the world in the palm of her hand.” He answered. Elodie took a deep breath and nodded.

“You are right. Forgive my sudden crisis, you do this job long enough and it is hard to see the light sometimes.” His eyes grew soft and sad as he removed his hand.

“I understand,” he said before leaving the room to return to Miriel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Sorry for updating later than usual, as I said I was out of town all of last week. There will be another update this Friday! Getting back on schedule. 
> 
> Please comment, leave kudos, etc.! I love you guys, stay cool :)


	39. Not So Simple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miriel is recovering from her injuries and is frustrated with Solas. Meanwhile, Elodie makes plans and Katra makes an important discovery. SFW

It had been a week of Solas and Elodie fussing over Miriel’s every single movement. Miriel hadn’t been allowed a moment to herself for fear of hurting herself. And sure, her back took longer to heal than expected, and _yes_ , sometimes her right leg would give out on her. But she had this under control, the health potions and the elfroot poultices did their jobs most of the time, and she was beginning to get restless, lying around in bed all day, filling out paper work.

What was worse was that Solas hadn’t kissed her for that entire week. He proffered “I love you” and “Ar lath ma” everywhere, but he never touched her. Even in sleep, where he would usually curl himself around her or pull her to him at some point in the night, he remained a distance away from her as if even the slightest touch would break her. That hurt worse than the back that refused to cooperate.

As time stretched on and he continued to not touch her, her anxiety began to prey on her. _He can never look at you the same way again. Who wants a broken little elf girl? Look at how much time he spends with the beautiful, powerful, competent Elodie who is a mage just like him._ It was easy to shake the thoughts in the beginning, but now….

“Angel of Death, game over, everybody show your cards,” Katra was saying, laying her cards flat on the bed. Miriel set her cards down and Varric let out a low whistle.

“Damn, Buttercup,” Miriel glanced down to see that she had the winning hand. _Ah._ She sighed and shrugged, almost immediately regretting the movement as a twinge of pain suddenly shot through her neck and down into her shoulder blades.

Katra sighed, “I know it is hard sitting around in bed waiting to get better, but you need to give yourself time-

“The longer I am in this bed, the more time Corypheus has to do whatever dastardly thing he is planning! I need to be out there, helping people,” she tried to sit up but more pain radiated down into her buttocks and she yelped. “Dammit!”

Katra placed a soft hand on her friend’s leg and Varric spoke, “We still don’t even know where Corypheus is. According to Leliana, the red Templars and Venatori have become even more stealth oriented since you ceased their operations in Sahrnia. Honestly, this forced rest might be a good thing for you, get you a chance to be all rested up before the monster shows his face.” Miriel sighed and let herself slowly relax once more into the mattress.

“I know, I just hate being cooped up like this. I feel very lazy,” Miriel whined and Katra rolled her eyes.

“You are far from lazy,” the mage said and Miriel turned her head away, eyes despondent. Varric’s brow furrowed and leaned closer to her, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“What’s really going on, Buttercup?” He asked and she sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “No, don’t give me that shit, something’s up. We’re your friends, which means we have your back. Now, what is going on?” He pressed and after a moment, she turned her head back to them.

“Solas…it’s like he doesn’t want to touch or interact with me at all anymore. He’s distant and really only present during healing sessions, otherwise he’s locked up Creators know where doing Mythal knows what. We haven’t kissed since I left for Emprise du Lion – and that was over two weeks ago!” Miriel bemoaned. Katra quirked an eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest as Varric nodded.

“That asshole,” Katra said immediately but Varric held his hand up to settle the tone down.

“Alright, so maybe he’s an asshole. Or maybe he’s a man in love who almost watched the woman he loves die. And then he had to watch her go through excruciating pain to be healed.” Varric said calmly.

“What does that-

“And now he is terrified of hurting you again, so…he doesn’t touch you.” The dwarf explained and the two women stared at him.

“Varric, you’re a bloody genius, I hope you know that.” Katra said, leaning down to quickly kiss the dwarf on the cheek.

“So how do I convince him that I am not going to break at the slightest touch?” The elf asked and Katra grinned evilly.

“Oh leave it to me.”

“Hawke,” Varric said in a warning tone. But the woman’s grin remained and she even added in tapping fingers, and was it just Miriel, or had the room gotten darker? Katra was a mage after all and prone to dramatics.

“What is she scheming now?” A low timbered voice asked from across the room. The room lightened, Katra’s evil grin disappeared as she launched herself across the room, stopping herself from completing jumping on top of Fenris. She stopped right in front of him to press a sweet kiss to his cheek.

“Just hooking a friend up, the usual,” she answered as he pressed a return kiss to the top of her head.

“Ah yes, your legendary match making skills.” He teased.

“Hey, Donnic and Aveline are still together!”

“Which is a damn miracle honestly. ‘It’s a nice night for an evening’ – who says shit like that?” Varric asked and Miriel giggled. Everyone in the room turned towards her with surprised eyes.

“You haven’t laughed since returning,” Fenris explained when he saw that no one was addressing her confused expression.

“Well, I’ve been in pain and ignored by my lover, suffice it to say that I haven’t been feeling exactly cheery.”

“Yes, and that’s where I come in!” Katra declared.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t butt into other people’s problems, Katra, it tends to get you into trouble,” Fenris said, inching closer to her to take her hand in his.

“If I didn’t butt into people’s problems we wouldn’t be together,” she quipped. Fenris sighed and conceded her point.

“So…what are you going to do?” Miriel asked and Katra just smiled.

“Oh you’ll see.”

“That’s just code for she hasn’t figured it out yet.” Varric clarified.

“Oh hush you.”

**

“Is there no other option?” Elodie asked Fiona who shook her head.

“Not one that I am aware of,” the former Grand Enchanter said and Elodie closed her eyes in frustrated disbelief.

“Then I go west,” she replied.

“Are you mad? You have been gone for too long anyways! Anora is sick, Elodie, Duncan is losing his mother – do not make him lose his mum as well,” Alistair pleaded with her. She smiled bitterly, tossing her hands in the air.

“What choice do I have? We need a cure, Alistair, not just for us but for Duncan as well!”

“We have performed tests; he does not have the taint-

“He dreams of dragons, Alistair. Large, dark dragons with wings that beat against a purple sky with white eyes in its skull.”

“He could be a mage-

“Dreams of magical realization and the taint are very different, I know from experience,” Elodie countered and Fiona nodded.

“Extremely different. The demons try to make you feel comfortable and then terrorize you because their goal is possession. The Blight nightmares are…they are just terrifying,” Fiona said. Alistair pursed his lips and turned away in frustration just to turn immediately back around, pointing a finger that he wagged once, twice, before pulling it in and a making a defeated fist.

“Dammit, Elodie,” he said before sinking into the nearest chair. He held his head in his hands, shaking his head. Elodie’s face softened and she crouched by the chair, gently touching his hands.

“Alistair, my love, I hate it too.”

“If you hate it so much, then why are you doing this?”

“Because we are older, and we are wiser to know that this is not what we want. No one should be tied to the Blight for their entire lives – it is wrong. The Rite of Conscription is a death sentence, and I will bear it no longer – and I cannot bear you having it either. And I refuse to have little Duncan saddled with parents who will die so young.” She said quietly, gazing up at his covered face with sorrow. He was still for a long moment before sighing and leaning forward so that his head rested on her shoulder.

“Just…don’t be gone for so long this time, please?”

“No more than a year,” she said confidently.

“No more than a year, promise?” He asked softly and she rubbed his back.

“I promise,” she whispered quietly.

“I….I don’t mean to interrupt, Elodie, but I was hoping I could talk to you about Miriel?” Katra’s voice broke the moment between the two wardens and they parted slowly. Alistair pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead as he leaned away.

“Go, I understand your healing obligation.” Alistair bemoaned, but she didn’t move away from him.

“What is it, Katra?” Elodie asked without even turning to face her.

“So apparently Solas hasn’t been affectionate towards our dear Inquisitor since returning from the Emprise, and I was wondering if that massage technique would work with her condition?” Katra asked and Elodie closed her eyes, reviewing her training for a brief moment before nodding.

“Yes, I suppose it could. It would certainly ease tension in her back that seems to be causing some lingering pain,” she said tentatively.

“Wonderful, do you think you could have Solas perform it? I know he isn’t exactly a spirit healer, but he is powerful and could probably pick up the technique no problem.”

“That’s actually a good idea, I have to leave soon anyways. It would be best that he knows her care, especially since the farther along in her healing, the more physical it will need to be. It might as well be conducted by someone she trusts with her body,” Elodie kissed Alistair briefly on the mouth before turning to Katra who was grinning evilly and rubbing her hands together.

“What are you scheming?” The warden asked.

“Well, if he is forced to touch and massage her…I was thinking, put two and two together….” Katra trailed off and Elodie’s eyes went wide with realization.

“You’re tricking him into giving her physical attention!” Oh that was smart, very clever. Katra nodded and rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I am, now are you in or not?” Elodie nodded yes. Before she left after Katra, she turned toward Alistair who was gazing dejectedly out of the window. She bent down, took his face in her hands and kissed him and long and lovingly.

“I promise, no more than a year,” she reiterated and a little smile graced his features. She kissed the top of his nose and turned to follow Katra, pulling down her sleeve to cover the darkened patch of skin on her wrist. _No more than a year._

**

Training Solas in the technique took a couple of hours, but as Katra had said, he was a quick study. He understood the need for him to learn and was a very good student, asking questions and adjusting his own technique to suit the needs of what this type of healing required. They practiced on a straw dummy before using Katra as a body reference. She was bigger than Miriel, but the standard physiology was the same and therefore relevant.

“You want to get your fingers in deep and start the massage and then add the magic. That way more of the healing energy will be accepted into the body. So getting in there and easing up muscle tension is very important. I think I have a guide that I can leave you with you, actually.” Elodie was informing him.

“That would be helpful, thank you.”

“It also contains some exercises that Miriel should perform once she starts being able to move more freely. I will mark the ones that I think will be best for her. Another exercise that may help that isn’t listed in the book is sex,” Elodie said and Katra just about spit out the water she was drinking. Solas blinked and doubled back.

“Excuse me?”

“Sex, Solas. You’re a grown man, and I know you and Miriel are already sexually active – so gentle, missionary style sex with some back support may help her back. Encourage her to use her lower back muscles to thrust upon you - that is really the movement we’re looking for. It will also help her recover emotionally as well, affection after an injury is extremely important. She needs to feel that she isn’t broken. It will help her stay motivated to keep up with the exercises and healing.” Elodie kept a straight face the entire time as she explained the benefits of sex and affection somehow. Katra was about dying from trying to conceal her laughter while Solas just looked at the spirit healer, stunned. Solas coughed, straightening his back in discomfort.

“That is unexpected,” he finally said and Elodie shrugged.

“I am a healer, trust me, I have talked about a lot more personal things with other patients. You would be amazed by how many nobles need to see a healer about…sensitive topics,” she said.

“I can imagine,” he replied.

“I am going to go get that book if you would care to join me, we can discuss Miriel’s future treatment,” Elodie offered. Solas nodded and followed after her as she left the Rotunda.

**

Katra stayed behind, at first admiring the murals in the rotunda but then her ears perked up as she heard a very familiar voice echoing in the main hall. She slinked out of the Rotunda, peaking around the corner to spy on Varric as spoke to a small, dwarven woman wearing a hood. _Interesting_. It seemed that her scheming and plotting was not done for the day and she watched the scene unfold.

“I appreciate the warning, but you shouldn’t have come yourself. What if the Guild found out? Or Whatshisname?” Varric was saying, clearly distressed at whatever the woman before was saying.

“Are you worrying for me or for yourself?” The woman asked. Oh! A cheeky one! How interesting.

“A little of column A, a little bit of column B. I am the expendable one, after all.” Expendable? Concern for her well being? Dwarf-y? Some odd connection to the Merchant’s Guild? Could this be…? Oh Maker it was Katra’s lucky day!

“Awwww. Don’t worry. I’ll protect you. We’ll just have to-

“Are you who I think you are?” Katra was suddenly standing next to the two dwarves, shit-eating grin in place as she stared down at the remarkably plain but still cute woman. Varric took a deep breath before putting on his own bullshitting grin.

“Well, this is a surprise. You’re Hawke, aren’t you? Bianca Davri, at your service.”

“It _is_ you! HA! Isabela owes me six sovereigns!” Katra pumped her fist in the air victory and Varric shook his head.

“What did you bet this time?”

“Alright, first of all, you are the last one who should be nagging someone about gabbling, and two – Isabela was convinced you didn’t exist, Bianca. But I knew, I just fuckin’ _knew._ And I was _right_!” It wasn’t like she needed the sovereigns, but to win a bet over Isabela was always cause for celebration.

“Wait, you _told_ her?” Bianca demanded of Varric who put his hands up and shook them.

“No, I did not. She’s just nosy…and unintentionally perceptive,” Varric defended and Katra waved him off.

“Yeah, I don’t know _who_ you are, only that his crossbow is named after you. Isabela was convinced that he was making the entire damn thing up, but I knew that somewhere out there was a little dwarf woman by the name of Bianca who had sealed her place in Varric’s magnificent hairy chest and therefore had the crossbow named after her.” Katra said dramatically. Varric shook his head and turned towards Bianca in a gesture that appeared to say ‘I am so sorry.’

“You know it’s a common name. Half the girls in the Merchant Guild are named Bianca. The other half are named ‘Helga.’ I lucked out.”

“Ah yes, but you’re _the_ Bianca. The one the crossbow is named after.” Katra insisted.

“She is not going to back down is she?” Bianca said and Varric shook his head.

“Fine, Hawke. Yes, this is the Bianca the crossbow is named after.”

“I _knew_ it!” The dwarves rolled their eyes before Katra continued, “So...what is she doing here exactly?”

“She’s taking a huge risk coming here herself. Maybe for both of us.”

“You’re such a worrier! There’s a giant hole in the sky. I think the Merchant’s Guild has bigger things to think about,” the woman chastised. Varric’s face remained uncharacteristically serious, eyebrows drawn and mouth tight as Bianca smiled mischievously. Katra’s eyes moved between the two, shocked to see that Varric was the responsible one in the relationship. But then again, he had always been the one worrying about their friends, sending barmaids to Darktown with soup to Anders, paying off the gangs to leave Merrill alone, and even bribing the Merchant’s Guild to not inquire into the abandoned estate Fenris had occupied.

“Bianca’s got a lead on where Corypheus got his red lyrium,” he said.

“The site of Bartrand’s Folly, the thaig Varric found, has been leaked,” Bianca informed. Katra scowled at the mention of that accursed place. The old feelings of betrayal rose within her, _dammit Bartrand._

“There’s a Deep Roads entrance crawling with strange humans carting out red lyrium by the handful,” the dwarf continued. And bad shit got worse.

“Alright…how do we know they’re not using multiple entrances into the thaig?”

“Navigating the Deep Roads isn’t like the Surface. There are no accurate maps of the whole system, and there are cave-ins, darkspawn, lava floods…If you find a route that gets where you’re going, you don’t deviate. Trying to find another way could be deadly.”

“It was that damn Iverly wasn’t it? Shithead lived for money.” Katra groused.

“How they found out isn’t important,” Bianca interjected. “What matters is we know where they are now.”

“Aw, you told her, Varric!”

“Right after the expedition. She had contacts for the artifacts we found. Plus, I owed her.” Katra took a deep breath and watched Varric for a moment. She looked at him, really looked at him and sighed. He looked so much older, so much sadder than he had in Kirkwall. His eyes sagged and there were a few faint lines around his mouth that indicated he had been frowning more than smiling as of late. Even his chest hair appeared to be a bit flatter than the lively curly carpet it had been in Kirkwall. She then looked at Bianca, the remarkably plain and smirking woman in a hood.

Varric loved her and it wasn’t Katra’s place to judge. Shit, Varric had always been there for her with the whole Fenris debacle. She had lost count how many times she had curled up next to him, resting her head on his fuzzy chest as she felt her world fall apart.

Now here they were with Varric looking tired and broken up about this plain, snarky woman. Not that being plain was bad…but Katra had been hoping that the great, mysterious Bianca would be this beautiful, enthralling woman. But no, she was…average, cute and small and so normal looking. Her heart clenched and she nodded.

“So when do we leave and where are we going?”

**

The book Elodie had given him was amazing. Truly amazing. He had not thought that so much of the art of spirit healing could be uncovered in a world ruled by a magic fearing Chantry or even with the Veil still firmly in place – but here was proof that while it was a rare specialty, it was a greatly valued art. He knew that spirit healers of modern Thedas were not quite as adept at the craft as the healers in Elvhenan, but to see so much of it recovered and then freely practiced was still a wonderful revelation. And in what they did not know magically, they made up for in physicality. Many of the exercises outlined and highlighted for Miriel’s use were non-magical and simply involved her moving her body in specific ways to strengthen the parts of her that were injured.

The only problem was that one of the diagrams was unclear. A passing servant informed him that Elodie had not yet left and was currently with King Alistair at Herald’s Rest.

He was gathering the book when Cole suddenly appeared in the Rotunda. The spirit paced back and forth, wringing his hands, head twitching in obvious discomfort. Solas quirked a brow at him.

“Cole, is there something bothering you?”

“No. Yes? I-I’ve been thinking.”

“What about?”

“Adamant. Burning, beating, unbound – those spirits were hurting and killing,” he said.

“Yes, but they were bound, just to men and women who abused that power.”

“But they were spirits! Wrenched through, wailing, now wanting but not understanding. Twisted, dark. I don’t want to become like them!” Cole suddenly cried. Solas stepped away from his desk to take up Cole’s field of vision.

“Cole, please calm down. You are not a demon, you have not harmed anyone in the Inquisition,” Solas kept his voice calm and measured.

“No, but I could, I may. I-I don’t want to do that! You have to bind me,” Cole said excitedly, his bright blue eyes finding Solas’s. Solas immediately bristled at the thought.

“Absolutely not.” He could never do such a thing to Cole, or any spirit for that matter. It was a breach of every ethical principle in his body to tie another person to his will. It was wrong. He resumed gathering his things and walked out of the Rotunda, heading towards the tavern.

“Ah yes! Maybe Elodie can bind me!” Cole said excitedly as he followed Solas out of the main keep.

“No, you cannot ask that of her – she is a healer and will not bastardize the immense gift she has. She is also a warden, if you have forgotten.”

“Then Katra would do it. She knows how dangerous unbound spirits are,” Cole continued to argue. Solas scowled as he continued his way to the tavern. This was ridiculous, Cole did not need to be bound and his fear was not doing the spirit any favors.

“I doubt the Champion of Kirkwall would bind a spirit to herself considering her choice in a lover.”

“Then you!”

“No.”

“But you like demons!”

“I enjoy the company of spirits, yes, which is part of why I do not abuse them with bindings.”

“It isn’t abuse if I ask!” Cole insisted. Solas could see now that this fear had taken deep roots inside of Cole’s mind, making him irrational.

“Not always true. Also, I do not practice blood magic, which renders this entire conversation academic.” He finally turned to Cole, determined to help the spirit see reason.

The spirit suddenly stood straighter and turned around. Solas followed his gaze to see Elodie walking with Miriel. It was the first time Solas had seen Miriel outside of her rooms, strolling the Skyhold grounds with a death grip on Elodie’s arm. She was paler than normal and she had lost weight, making her already small frame look childlike next to Elodie’s height.

Cole strode to the women quickly, “He won’t bind me. He’s a mage, and he likes demons, and he won’t help.” Miriel frowned and Elodie looked concerned.

“Why do you want Solas to bind you?” Miriel asked softly.

“He has to!” Cole cried, “If Solas won’t do the ritual to bind me, someone else could. Will! Like the Warden mages! And then…I’m not me anymore. Walls around what I want, blocking, bleeding, making me a monster.” Miriel’s brow furrowed in deep concern and she moved forward slightly in an attempt to comfort him. Her leg gave out slightly and she bit her lip as she halted her movement.

“Isn’t it extreme for Solas to bind you? What if that takes away the part of you that makes you…you?” Her voice wavered and Solas continued to frown as he watched her struggle. She should be resting, not over exerting herself.

“Helping makes me who I am! I help the hurting. That is what I do, all I do, am, me!”

“And if binding you erases your mind? Your consciousness?” Solas interjected. Cole would not be bound and Miriel would return to her quarters soon.

“You wouldn’t make me hurt innocent people. I don’t want to hurt innocent people again.” Fear for a spirit was a corrupting force and Cole was courting becoming a demon by letting it control him to such an alarming extent.

Miriel took a deep breath, “There has to be some middle ground between ‘do nothing’ and ‘bind Cole with blood magic.’”

“Indeed,” Solas agreed. His and Miriel’s eyes met, and he had to resist going to her side immediately. Her gold eyes were dull and tired, _she should be resting._

“I recall stories of amulets used by Rivaini seers to protect spirits they summoned from rival mages. A spirit wearing the Amulet of the Unbound was immune to blood magic and binding. It should protect Cole as well. The resources of the Inquisition could be used to find such a talisman.” Cole nodded at the suggestion.

“Good. They will not take me.” The spirit then walked away, most likely pulled by a hurt as his own fear began to soothe from the compromise. Miriel sighed and leaned against Elodie. Soft, calming magic filled the air as Elodie effortlessly cast a pain easing spell.

“You should be resting,” Solas said, finally walking up to her. Elodie shook her head.

“No, Miriel needs to walk and stretch to properly continue her healing. It may look awkward and difficult, but it is necessary.” His frown deepened and Miriel sighed.

“Solas, I needed to get out of that room, I was losing my mind. And walking, feeling the sun – my back and legs hurt, but it is nothing compared to how good it feels to get out. Please, I know you’re concerned, but this is good, trust me?” She asked. With the aid of Elodie’s spell, she was able to let go of the human and cautiously step to Solas. His eyebrows were drawn in worry but then her hands softly gripped his arms in stability. Warmth spread through him and he realized that he hadn’t touched her in two weeks.

His hands came up and gently cupped her face, thumbs gently stroking her cheeks.

“I haven’t been here,” he stated and she shook her head, “ir abelas, vhenan.” He whispered and she smiled softly.

“I forgive you,” his kissed her gently and then linked her arm through his.

“Walk with me?” He asked and she smiled before they began their slow stroll through Skyhold.

**

Katra was heading to the stables when she noticed Solas taking Miriel’s arm and walking off with her. Both elves were smiling and she even saw a little giggle on Miriel’s part once Solas began speaking into her ear. Katra’s eyebrows went up and she nodded. This was not quite what she had in mind when she had asked Elodie’s help for getting Miriel and Solas together, but it worked.

“How did you manage that?” Katra asked and Elodie shrugged, smiling as she watched the reunited couple.

“Physical attention is good, emotional attention is better,” Elodie replied.

“You’re telling me. You think that he’ll keep it up?”

“Yes. He may be older and wiser, but he is still a man who is susceptible to fear and the need to overprotect. He needed reassurance too, he needed to know that she is out of the woods and needs him more for emotional support rather than physical.”

Katra turned to Elodie, impressed. Elodie shrugged, “I am a spirit healer. We don’t just summon spirits to aid us to heal, but we also heal spirits.”

“I hear you’re leaving.” Katra said. Elodie sighed, turning toward the battlements.

“Yes, I have put off my mission for long enough. Miriel will heal and…and it is time for me to move on.”

Katra took a deep breath but smiled over at her new friend, “We’ll miss you, but I understand.”

Elodie took a deep breath, pain from making the right but difficult decision etched into her face. “Thank you for understanding.” Katra made to walk away but Elodie stopped her.

“Watch Solas carefully for me, please? He is…a good man, I am sure but there is something that is bothering me about how he acted at Sahrnia and how quickly he got there. I know magic, and the amount of power required to fade step the entire way to Suledin and then to just about resurrect Miriel…he is either lying about how he reached Sahrnia or lying about how powerful he is. And for the life of me I cannot imagine why he would lie about either.” Elodie said softly. Katra raised a brow at the woman and sighed.

“Because we need another shifty apostate running around.”

“Just…watch Miriel? Something is up and I worry that she will get the worst end of it.”

“Of course, I will watch him like a hawk.”

“…That was bad.”

“I never claimed it was good.”

**

Miriel leaned against Solas for support in the stable. They had all gathered to wish Elodie well on the last leg of her journey. Katra was also heading out with Varric, Bianca, and Fenris. Miriel had yet to get the full story of Bianca, but she was sure her friends would inform her when they returned.

Elodie was once again in her traveling robes, her face drawn and looking much older than her twenty-nine years. Alistair was hanging back from the crowd, his head bent down in defeat and Miriel had to resist from shuffling over to hug him. She couldn’t imagine what it felt like to be constantly watching the one you loved walk away because of duty.

Solas hugged her slightly closer to his body and she rested her head against his chest. They had talked and talked and had come to the agreement that he would no longer avoid touching her. He had repeatedly told her he loved her and had _kissed_ her…repeatedly even. Even now his hands ran gentle caresses against her in an uncommon public display of affection. Her heart felt lighter than it had in the past two weeks and the closer Solas got the more shadows fled her mind.

A sigh escaped Miriel, though, as she watched the woman responsible for her quick recovery saddle her horse. Elodie’s friendship had come as such a surprise for Miriel, the woman hadn’t even announced that she was coming to Skyhold and yet she had come in a great show of unexpected friendship and magic. Just outside of the stable stood all of the Wardens currently stationed at Skyhold, ready to see their beloved interim commander go forth into the unknown.

Elodie’s mission was one tied to death and disease, filled with desperate and disparate hope.

Katra’s on the other hand….

“So you’re heading to Valammar, correct?” Miriel asked and Bianca nodded.

“There is an access point there, and if we shut it down then we stand a chance to reduce the red lyrium shipments,” she explained. Miriel had expected Varric to be happy that Bianca was here, that she was hanging close to him, touching him – but his face was drawn almost as tightly as Elodie’s and his drooped with obvious exhaustion.

“And Elodie, where are you going?”

“West, towards the Tirashan,” her voice was low and none of the usual pep was present as she continued to pack her things onto her horse. Alistair shuffled his feet behind Miriel.

Katra then bounced into the barn, Fenris close on her heels.

“Just like old times!” The redhead was beaming and brimming with energy as she practically floated over to her horse.

“Except this is legal,” Fenirs quipped. Katra rolled her eyes, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. Miriel’s eyes widened as she saw something she had never seen before – Fenris smiled. He turned to Katra to properly kiss her. Katra then of course made a lewd, overdramatic moan that had Fenris blushing and rolling his eyes.

An hour later and everybody was ready to head out. Miriel walked cautiously over to Elodie, wrapping her arms around the tall woman.

“I wish you luck, lethallan,” Miriel whispered and Elodie hugged her closer, casting a small burst of healing around the small woman.

“GROUP HUG!” Katra, who apparently was feeling very affectionate that day, hopped over and wrapped her arms around Miriel and Katra, going so far as to add her own warm loving magic to the mix. Miriel smiled as warmth and light and healing washed over her, _I love mages._

A man cleared his throat and Elodie looked up and Miriel knew that Alistair had finally moved. Miriel and Katra backed away while Alistair crept closer.

“Ellie…” he began and the woman threw herself in his arms.

“I miss you already, Ali,” she said into his chest. Alistair clutched her to his chest, almost lifting her off the ground. He buried his face into her neck and breathed. Everyone turned away from them to give them privacy.

Miriel saw Katra and her group off before turning back to Elodie…to find her in a passionate lip lock with the king of Ferelden.

Elodie broke away and left with tears on her face.

Alistair sighed and turned to Miriel, his face red.

“I depart tomorrow. You have your alliance and I…I have duties to attend to.” Alistair walked off before hearing any reply Miriel could conjure up.

**

She fell asleep quickly snuggled into Solas’s embrace. He was still concerned about harming her and he held some reservations of allowing himself to sleep deeply, but it was wonderful to have her in his arms again. He couldn’t help but press an occasional kiss to her head, still grateful to whatever spirits aided them back at Suledin keep to heal her. _She’s alive._

Solas had not been exaggerating when explaining how important she had become to him. And he was quickly realizing how much he did not wish to part from her. These past two weeks had been difficult in simply being away from her, not to mention her horrific injuries.

Miriel made a small noise and turned her head into his chest, pressing even closer to him and his heart ached. There was a certain degree of wrongness to this whole situation. She was such an amazing woman and so undeserving of all of horrible guilt and responsibility he carried.

Revasala’s words echoed in his head. She is mortal. Fragile. Doomed to die. His heart constricted and his stomach roiled. His arms tightened around her and he felt as if he could not breathe for a moment.

For all his power and ability, for all the plans he had to restore their People…he did not know if he could give her immortality. He did not know if he could restore _her_ and _her_ specific people and while it did not concern him much before….

The idea of leaving her and those she loved so dearly behind was beginning to sit worse and worse in his stomach. It kept him up at night. Spirits he had known for ages were beginning to comment on the swirling chaos, indecision, and guilt that permeated his being while he dreamed.

It all led back to one sentiment: she was important. More important than any singular person had a right to be and yet….

He stroked her hair and looked down at her face, lined with Andruil’s marks, and felt himself begin to fall into an inexplicably calmer state.

Miriel of clan Lavellan was his vhenan. Simple.

And as his vhenan, as a _person_ , it was wrong to continue this charade with her. She had every right to know who he was, who he had been…who he could become.

He traced the edge of her ear. He was going to tell her, he thought. He had to tell her, the only question was of when.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please comment, leave kudos, etc.


	40. Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Miriel's birthday! A time for joyous celebration! ...Right? NSFW

It was a week after Elodie had left, Cole had been encouraged to embrace his spirit side, and Katra had returned an angry with Bianca. There had been a scene, a fight, shouting and whatnot. Bianca had left, Varric had sighed and Miriel supposed that she really shouldn’t get involved. Which suited her fine.

Sunlight filtered in a lazy haze into the room, slowly warming the already very warm and nestled elves in the bed. The blankets shifted and a blonde head of hair emerged, only to nuzzle back into the blankets with a soft sigh.

She could sleep in five more minutes; it was after all her birthday. A little present to herself from all the hard work she had been doing, yes…five more minutes…. The bed then moved and her brow furrowed as she felt Solas’s warm presence at her back leave.

She hummed unhappily at the absence and rolled over to grab and pull him back to her. But he wasn’t there. The bed shifted again, along with the covers and a cold hand suddenly caressed her leg. She yelped in surprise only to have Solas shimmy up her body under the covers until his head poked out.

“Shhh,” he hushed wickedly before descending again. Oh. Well, this was a nice way to wake up.

He trailed warm kisses down her belly until he came to her smalls. From the sharp but delightful nip, he was dragging them down her legs with his teeth. _Very nice._

Once stripped of the offending garment, Solas returned to the apex of her thighs and urged them a part so that he may gaze upon her. A muffled groan emanated from underneath the covers and she giggled. He made it no secret how much he loved doing this and how much he adored her appearance.

A finger was suddenly tracing up her heated flesh, eliciting a gasp and shiver from Miriel. He played like this for a moment longer before she heard a soft “Fenedhis” and then his warm mouth was upon her. Miriel’s startled gasp quickly turned into a moan as he licked and sucked her sex. Her hands found their way under the blanket to caress his smooth head and gently tug on his ears. She undulated against his mouth, his tongue dipping into her entrance as his fingers stroked her pleasure higher.

“Solas…” she moaned, beginning to approach her peak. He hummed against her and she never wanted him to stop, wanted to lie in this bed for the rest of her life as Solas lapped at her sex.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MIRI!”

Several things then happened at once. Maren lifted her arms above her head in surprise, her bright hazel eyes alight with happiness. Miriel’s eyes also went wide but in horror as she brought up her legs to seize around Solas. Those legs then, with their immense strength and power, rolled Solas not just away from Miriel’s nether region but off the bed entirely. He landed on the floor with a startled harrumph and Miriel sat up too quickly with the covers clutched to her.

“Da’Mare!” Miriel squeaked over a groaning Solas.

“What was that?” Maren asked, her eyes narrowing at the low noises.

“Nothing!” Miriel was smiling so hard she was afraid her face was going to crack. Despite the reassuring smile and the high pitched squeaking, Maren wasn’t buying it. She quirked her brow, her eyes flicking to the bottom of the bed before she began to back out of the room.

“Alright. Just wanted to say happy birthday…there are halla-milk pancakes downstairs. Rana made them because the shems were messing it up,” she backed up until she hit the stairs, then turned around and skipped down them. Once the door clamored shut, Miriel fell back onto the bed, arm flopping over face.

The bed bowed as Solas lifted himself onto the bed.

“It’s your birthday?” He asked and she sighed.

“Yep. Twenty-six years old,” she said. Solas’s hand traced up her arm until he was grasping her hand and pulling it away from her face.

“Twenty-six and beautiful,” he kissed her nose, “though I do wonder why you didn’t tell me?”

“Oooh, I don’t know. I forgot?” She offered lamely and he playfully huffed at her.

“Well, you haven’t told me when your birthday is!” She countered against his indignation.

“There is no point, it has passed,” he said and she pulled away from him in mock affront.

“And here you are chastising me when you’ve done the same thing!” She gently smacked his arm, he pulled himself up onto the bed and kissed her.

“Ir abelas, vhenan,” he whispered and she hummed contemplatively.

“I could be convinced to forgive you,” she said suggestively. He grinned wolfishly before slowly descending down her body again.

“Ma nuvenin,” he practically growled. Giggles quickly turned into moans as he set upon her once more. He licked and sucked until she reached her peak not once but twice. He was relentless as always and she loved it. For such an unassuming man, he was certainly skilled…and eager. Her body was still high and floating on a cloud of pleasure when Solas raised himself over and plunged himself deep within her. They both gasped and moaned as he began to move. Solas buried his face into the crook of Miriel’s neck, kissing and sucking the flesh there.

Miriel turned her head towards him so she could kiss him too. She kissed the odd smooth skin of his bald head but she didn’t mind. She loved all of him, including his large, shiny cranium. She had given up imagining him with hair, even, as she fell more and more in love with him. She smiled against his head and tightened her legs around his hips and her arms around his shoulders.

“Vhenan?” His voice was gruff as he continued to thrust himself into her.

“Yes?” She was halfway between giggles and moans. Solas moved his face so that he looked into her eyes and he must have liked whatever he saw there because he smiled and kissed her long and languidly.

“I love you so much,” she said. His smile broadened and he paused his strong thrusts to kiss her forehead.

“Ar lath ma, Miriel,” he pulled away to only quickly dip down to her mouth for a quick kiss before resuming.

It was not long before they reached their pleasures. He groaned, spilling himself within her as she clenched around him, reaching her peak. She scratched at his back, biting his earlobe as he shivered and bucked one more time.

He pulled out and fell next to her, pulling her close. A quick kiss to her cheek had her sighing and relaxing against him.

“Mmm,” she hummed happily.

“Halla-milk pancakes?” He asked softly.

She smiled, “Clan classic. I like mine with blueberries and raspberries,” she craned her neck to look up at him, “they’re better than those little frilly cakes.”

His eyebrow twitched in amusement, “Really?”

“Mmmhmmm,” she nuzzled into his neck.

“Then perhaps we should go down and investigate,” he said and she hummed.

“Five more minutes.”

It was ten more minutes before they made it down to the kitchens where a gaggle of elves had gathered around the table. Tonlen and Fenaven sat next to each other, white cream and bits of berries and pancakes smeared on their faces. Fenaven looked at Solas with wide eyes then thrust his hands out, sticky and covered in halla-pancake mush.

“Ha’Solas! Up!” The boy grumbled as he leaned precariously over the bench, practically throwing his small body at Solas.

Rana laughed from the stove top, “He wants you to pick him up,” she informed Solas.

“I gathered that,” Solas stared down at the filthy child and sighed. He could change later, after all and this was Miriel’s nephew. So the apostate dipped down and grabbed the boy, hoisting him into his arms. Miriel’s brow went up at the action and a broad smile overtook her face. She kissed his cheek quickly before moving over to Rana to kiss her good morning.

Solas sat down with the four-year old in his lap only to have Tonlen look at him with great big eyes and a quivering lip.

“What is it, da’len?”

“You like Fenaven more than me,” the boy whined.

“No, he simply asked to be picked up. I am very fond of you,” Solas cleared up but the boy continued to mope and there was something that looked suspiciously like a tear on the boy’s cheek. Solas sighed, then shifted Fenaven so that he sat on Solas’s right leg while Solas pulled Tonlen onto his left leg. This movement left his legs splayed and his arms around the boys so that they balanced properly – it was a dreadfully uncomfortable position but one that he found preferable to any of the boys actually crying.

Meanwhile, Miriel leaned against the counter by Rana who was pouring the batter into the pan to make new pancakes.

“You’re late,” Rana chastised.

“Good morning to you too,” Miriel said. Rana rolled her eyes, set her spatula down, then pulled her sister in for a side hug.

“Feliz cumpleaños, Miri,” Rana kissed Miriel’s cheek and Miri smiled happily.

“Ma serannas…wait, are those chocolate chips?” Miriel looked into the pan and Rana smiled deviously.

“Si, it’s amazing what the sh – the humans have access to. Thought I would experiment a little. I found a book that has all sorts of recipes in it and I am excited to try some,” Rana was saying as Miriel’s eyes were drawn to her apostate sitting at the table talking to Theron with two small boys sitting in his lap. She bit her lip and her head cocked to the side slightly. Rana glanced behind her and smiled wickedly.

“ _He looks good with children, too,_ ” she said in the clan speak. Miriel smiled and in her mind the children on his lap shifted into little miniature versions on herself and Solas, with missing teeth and too big ears. A heavy, deep-set ache settled in Miriel’s belly as she watched the boys with Solas. The longer they were together, the better they got, and the better they got the more often that ache would make itself known.

When she was young, her mother would talk about how she might not have known immediately that Miriel’s father was her soulmate, but that there was a definite point where she _knew._ The way she had described it was like the clouds parting to reveal the sun after weeks of rain. For Miriel, this feeling was more like a large boulder that sat heavily in her stomach and made her smile happily whenever she looked at him.

Rana glanced over at her sister, then over at Solas and smiled.

“ _I am glad you have found such a good man. Though Theron is slightly concerned at being brother in law to a man who is older than him._ ” Maren giggled at Rana’s words and Miriel rolled her eyes.

“ _He is not that much older, and I would appreciate if you did not joke at his expense._ ” Miriel answered. Rana shrugged then piled a pancake onto a plate.

Solas cocked his head slightly, trying to understand the odd jumble of Antivan, Common, and the occasional smattering of Elvhen. “Your dialect is fascinating. I take it clan Lavellan spends a great deal of time in or near Antiva?” Miriel turned her head towards him, slightly confused.

“What?”

“Your dialect, what you were just speaking in,” she blinked for a moment before she realized what he was saying.

“Oh I, we – we were speaking in clan speak! Dammit, ir abelas, lo siento – dammit, _sorry_ , I didn’t even realize I was speaking it. I promise to be more aware,” she slapped her hand against her forehead and hushed over to him to apologize. He laughed and kissed her still red forehead.

“Vhenan, _vhenan_ , it is alright. This is your language and it is part of who you are, if you don’t speak it, I won’t learn.” Her eyes went wide at his words and her heart ached.

“You…you want to learn the clan speak?” She whispered. He smiled and nodded.

“Of course, Miriel,” he replied. Theron quirked his brow at the situation and then grinned.

“ _I am thinking sunflowers for the wedding, what do you think, ma vhenan?”_

“ _I was thinking roses, something to fit the wretched sweetness,”_ Rana quipped back, piling another pancake onto Miriel’s plate.

“Oh shut it you two!” Miriel snapped playfully, unable to stop smiling.

“What are they asking?” Solas asked. Miriel turned toward him and debated not telling him, but it was her birthday, and the man she loved, the man she had always dreamed of being with had just told her he wanted to learn her bizarre language that only her clan spoke.

“They’re debating what flowers to have at our wedding.” She said softly. Solas to his credit, didn’t look upset or offended, but rather contemplative.

“And what are our current options?” He asked. Theron and Rana’s heads whipped around to stare at Solas.

“Sunflowers and roses,” she answered. He paused briefly, bounced a slightly uncomfortable Fenaven on his thigh then shrugged.

“I would prefer Ranunculus flowers and Lilies of the Valley,” he said matter of fact. Theron and Rana’s eyes bugged, met, then snapped back to Solas. There was a brief, odd suspension in the air before Rana screeched, threw her spatula in the air and waddled over to Miriel to pull her into a tight hug.

“ _Rana! He didn’t propose! That was NOT a proposal!”_ Miriel paused and looked over at Solas who was clearly now confused, “that wasn’t a proposal, was it?” He blinked before his eyes widened slightly and he quickly shook his head.

“No, no that was not…if I were to propose it would be private and you would be aware that I was proposing.”

“ _Your children will be precious! Maybe there will be a mage! Mamae and Papae would be so happy!”_ Clearly Rana hadn’t heard Solas, but frankly, Miriel couldn’t bring herself to stop her sister from celebrating, even if it was premature. Rana pepped kisses over Miriel’s face before waddling over to Solas and wrapping her arms around him, pulling his head into her bosom. Miriel let out a bark of laughter before guiding her sister away from her lover.

“Rana! Your breasts are suffocating him!” Rana released Solas but continued to smile as she waddled back over to the pancakes.

**

Ever since deciding that he was going to tell her the truth, Solas had been allowing himself to completely indulge in her and her family. He showered her in affection, talked about the future, and even allowed himself to fantasize about domesticity with her. He did like the idea of Ranunculus flowers at their wedding, and he liked the name ‘Elavhenan’ for a girl.

He was even enjoying have the boys in his lap, with their sticky fingers and their disproportionately large ears. Tonlen clung to Solas a bit more, and he wasn’t discouraging it. He had been surprised when he found himself liking and then falling in love with Miriel, now he was practically stupefied at actually liking her clan mates and family. They were Dalish – insular, wary of outsiders and not exactly receptive to any information that contradicted their beliefs. But here he was, in Skyhold’s kitchen while a very pregnant dalsih woman, sister to his Dalish lover, made him halla-milk pancakes. Fate certainly had a sense of humor.

The pancakes were quite good and he enjoyed them immensely and while he still preferred his little frilly cakes, watching Miriel’s happiness as she savored the pancakes made them immediately better. He found his heart aching and wanting for more, more time, more her – he wanted a real future with her. Marriage, children – a life he had never seriously considered for himself was suddenly a dream. He moved closer to her, placing a hand on her knee. Her eyes flicked over to him and she smiled as a delightful blush spread across her cheeks.

The door to the kitchens banged open and a servant walked in. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see one of his agents here, he had asked Revasala to start getting more of their people into the Inquisition after all, but still, seeing one of them here…it was a pleasant surprise. He stalled briefly in the doorway, wide eyed and a bit awkward as he fidgeted.

“Messere Solas, there was a man appropriating your painting tools, I-I thought you ought to know,” the agent stammered. Solas quirked his eyebrow and sighed.

“Forgive me, Miriel, I must attend to this,” he kissed her on the cheek and then left the room. The agent followed him, filling him in why he had been summoned.

“She said it was urgent,” he murmured. Solas nodded, all his earlier levity leaving his body as he marched quickly to the Rotunda. He was in the small corridor in the stairs when a hand reached out and pulled him into the shadows. He stumbled into the secret passage with an oomph. The wall closed behind him quickly and Revasala lit the torches in the small aside room.

“There are better ways to communicate, Revasala,” he muttered, readjusting his mussed clothing.

“There was no time, another one died last night.” Revasala said and he froze. _No._

“We had taken precautions, the magic –

“Was always a temporary fix,” she interrupted. He scowled and closed his eyes briefly. Dammit. His heart leapt into his throat as he felt himself drift back into old sorrow and anger. The kitchens containing a life he so desired was mere feet away but that dream…. He shook himself, told himself to focus. He had a duty still, and he could not be neglectful.

“How many are left?”

“Five hundred sixty-seven.” Five hundred sixty-seven…that was it…that was all that was left of his people. Fenedhis.

“Find more mages to recruit, contact the Carta for lyrium smuggling and increase the magical energy flow to them.” It was the only thing he could do right now. The Veil was still up, and he was still recovering from his time asleep as well as having to consistently heal and revive Miriel.

Revasala nodded, “Yes, of course. I will have our agents planted in the remaining Circles, and we will double our efforts in Skyhold.”

“Good. I must return quickly, I do not wish to cause suspicion,” Solas turned to leave when Revasala spoke again, her voice soft, almost sympathetic.

“She is going to die, my lord, no matter what you do. Those five hundred sixty-seven people though…they don’t have to die.” She said quietly. Solas closed his eyes again, pausing before leaving the alcove. She had said this before and he…he knew. He was all too aware of her mortality, and he knew that it was only a hope that removing the Veil would restore immortality to the currently mortal elves. Only a hope…a hope he had allowed himself to indulge in because of her. A beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, wise woman – but there was only so much she and hope could accomplish.

His shoulders suddenly felt incomprehensibly heavy and his heart…sat in another room, laughing and happy, while the rest of his body ached from reality. Five hundred sixty-seven.

He met Revasla’s eyes and felt himself slip. She was…not wrong in her assessment. It would have been kinder to all involved if he had not allowed himself to indulge in Miriel’s early affections. But he could not bring himself to regret loving her, or allowing her to affect him.

Five hundred sixty-seven immortal lives…did he really need to sacrifice her and his love for her for them?

Solas left the alcove and headed back to the kitchens, no longer certain of what to do.

**

Almost as soon as Solas left for the Rotunda, the Commander entered the kitchen, an apprehensive but excited look on his face.

“Good morning, Cullen,” Miriel said taking another bite of her pancake.

“We have him!” He proudly declared.

“We found Corypheus?!” It was about time they had found the bastard.

“Uh, no. We have Samson though. My men found him at an old abandoned Temple of Dumat in North Western Orlais, we need to make haste.” It wasn’t Corypheus but it was close enough for Miriel.

“Of course, we can head out there today.” She said before quickly scarfing down the rest of her pancake. By the time she was done, Solas was back, his expression far off and forlorn. Her brow furrowed at his sudden turn of emotion.

“Solas, we found Samson, we have to get to the Temple of Dumat at once.” She said, handing her plate to Rana.

“Will you require my assistance in this?” He asked. Now this was just weird, normally he wouldn’t even be asking, just readying his things.

“I always require your assistance, sa’lath,” she said and if anything his gaze turned from distant to morose. Had she missed something? She walked over to him and kissed him the cheek.

“I am thinking of asking Cole, Bull, and Cassandra, what do you think?”

“That sounds fine. Excuse me, Inquisitor, but I must go prepare.” Inquisitor? What?

“Solas-

“We can talk later,” he said before hurrying off to prepare. Her heart fell and the room felt cold as he left. There was a pause before Rana narrowed her eyes.

“I’m pregnant and even I’m not that moody,” she chastised doing nothing for Miriel’s unease.

**

Solas remained in his mood for half of the ride to the Temple of Dumat. Sure, they slept in the same tent and in the same bedroll, but as soon as he woke up he would turn away from her, disentangling himself from her. On the fourth day, she rolled her eyes and gripped his arm.

“Solas, ma lath, please,” she pleaded, her voice still husky from sleep. Solas stilled, his head drooped slightly before turning back to her. His eyes were dark and deep, full of intense emotion.

“I love you,” he said, then he was kissing her and her heart hurt. She didn’t know why, but she felt like crying as she clutched at his sleep shirt, pulling him back down to her. He deepened the kiss and she wrapped her legs around him, needing to hold on to him tightly. He was so close to her physically, kissing, caressing her but her body trembled in fear as it felt as if he was miles and miles away. They made love but then he was gone again and it was time to tackle the day.

They left two hours later, listening to Cullen prattle on about confronting Samson and his inner turmoil. Miriel meant to pay attention, she really did, but her mind was on her emotionally distant lover. What was eating him? His change had been so sudden and without any warning, usually she would have some indication he would be like this. The lack of a proper cause to this was concerning and while she supported and loved him, she worried. She wanted to lay in bed all day with him, kissing him all over his beautiful body, telling him how much she loved him. She wanted to keep him close until he _felt_ close.

But no, she was on a stinky horse surrounded by stinky men (and Cassandra, who was only slightly less stinky). Miriel glanced over to Solas, his frown lines and crow’s feet were especially apparent today. Solas kept his steed pointedly away from hers, resulting in her scowling in worry. She was only able to confront him when they made camp that night.

“Did I do something wrong?” She asked softly as he rolled out his bedroll in their shared tent. He froze then glanced over to her. She saw realization bloom in his eyes and let out a long sigh.

“No, no, you have done nothing wrong. I apologize, vhenan, I just…these moods sometimes strike me and,” he trailed off, unable to explain any further. She was relieved to have not caused this but her worry and trepidation remained. But she moved anyways. She kissed him on the cheek and gently laid her hand atop his.

“I understand…but I worry. This distance…you know you can always talk to me, right? You can tell me anything,” she told him, running a gentle finger down his cheek. His mouth fluttered in an almost attempt to smile and he took her hand, kissing her knuckles.

“Thank you, vhenan, that is…a great comfort,” but he didn’t say anything else. What is a comfort if it is not taken? She wondered. Her brow furrowed but she didn’t press him, if he couldn’t speak then…then she would not force him to, even when she so desperately wanted to.

“Alright,” she whispered instead before laying down on the bedroll. He joined her a moment later, falling asleep quickly as he normally did. But she remained awake, worried and confused as a foreboding feeling tickled up her spine.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan.” She whispered into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this week's chapter, next time...Temple of Mythal! 
> 
> Please comment, leave kudos, bookmark - you know :) And thank you to all who have commented and left kudos already, y'all are awesome. 
> 
> Flower meanings! I googled flower meanings so these have that level of accuracy, still, this is Solas's intent of why he said those flowers:  
> Lily of the Valley: symbolic of forever love, something delicate, simple elegance and dreamy  
> Ranunculus: symbolizes an everlasting embrace of love and commitment, and to hold something close to your heart


	41. Discovered

_Inquisitor,_

_Our scouts have been able to track Corypheus to a specific location, we need you to return to Skyhold immediately so that we may plan our future movements._

_Leliana_

_P.S. Your sister entered labor two days after your departure and gave birth to a healthy baby girl. Her name is Vhenival, I believe they are calling her Venna for short, and she is about the cutest thing! We all eagerly await your return._

_**_

_Miri,_

_Your niece is the most amazing thing. She is perfect, she looks just like her father with her black hair and pale skin…but her eyes…they are exactly like ours, Miri. Gold and round and perfect. Her name is Vhenival, perfect little Venna._

_But do not imagine that just because I gave birth that I have not forgotten your and Solas’s relationship and eventual nuptials. I think I will make your gown white to go with the Lilies of the Valley that Solas likes. And I will have Theron build you the most beautiful marriage aravel. And then you will give Fenaven and Venna little cousins to play with, and for me to spoil._

_Creators, we have been blessed and I thank Mythal and Sylaise every day._

_Much love,_

_Rana_

_P.S. This is Maren. The baby is wrinkly and spits up every time I pick her up, and none of the mages here are like Solas. Please come home._

_**_

_Miriel,_

_Tell me I don’t want or need a baby right now. That my life is as chaotic and weird as it is without throwing a tiny, writhing, adorable baby into the mix. Tell me that it’s just my stupid woman brain and being around your adorable little niece that is doing this to me._

_Fenris held the baby and I just about died. Tell me this is a bad idea._

_Shit._

_Katra_

_**_

_Rana,_

_CONGRATULATIONS! Ir abelas for not being there. I am certain that my baby niece is the most beautiful creature in the world and I wish I could simply fly to your side right now._

_And Solas did not propose! It is not set and do not stitching that dress until there is a wedding to plan. You know that jinxes it._

_And Maren, hold your niece, marvel at the tiny life your sister has created. Also, whenever Rana is about to throw up, her eyes widen and so do Fenaven’s. Watch Venna’s eyes, if they widen, hand her to someone else for her to spit up on. I will be back at Skyhold as soon as I can, stinky horses only go so quickly._

_Ar lath ma,_

_Miri_

_**_

_Katra,_

_You and Fenris would have beautiful, BEAUTIFUL, children. You should totally have a baby. You should jump Fenris’s bones and make that baby. And then you should totally name the baby after me. Miriella for a girl and Mirien for a boy._

_Miriel_

_**_

_Maren,_

_Keep practicing those barrier exercises I gave you. You should be focusing on stamina and control at this age. No, fireballs do not count as stamina and control practices, do not listen to Katra. Ask Olivia Tremaine for more activities, I have had several conversations with her and she seems to be quite capable._

_You must learn how to take in information from multiple sources. Learning from one source will create a bias within you when approaching new information. And new does not mean wrong or bad, Maren, it simply means new. Learning from one source will also leave holes in your knowledge and abilities._

_You have a gift, Maren. And you are surrounded by other gifted and experienced mages. Be a bit greedy and learn from them, use them._

_I look forward to seeing you and your niece upon my return._

_Solas_

_**_

_Rana,_

_I wish you congratulations on the birth of your daughter, Vhenival. That is a beautiful name for a beautiful little girl, I am certain. May she grow into a wise and wonderful woman just as her mother and aunts._

_I also wish to thank you for the support that you have given toward Miriel and mine relationship. Your blessings and supports mean a great deal to her and therefore me as well. It is gratifying to feel welcomed by such a closely knit family._

_Ma serannas,_

_Solas_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this midweek to give a sense of some time passing before Friday's chapter (which is coming! not to worry!).


	42. Mythal Enaste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition heads to the Temple of Mythal. SFW

“With an Eluvian, Corypheus could cross into the Fade in the flesh?” Leliana asked, confirming what they all already knew. Morrigan nodded.

“Indeed. The Inquisitor can attest that these artifacts still work if one still knows how to use them.” Miriel stood between the Lady Morrigan and Solas. She figured it would benefit them greatly to have a Fade expert in addition to the Arcane when what threatened them most was the danger of the Fade. Morrigan, however, was…a little less pleased with the new arrangement.

“What happens when Corypheus enters the Fade?” Cullen asked.

“Why he will gain his heart’s desire and take the power of a God.” Morrigan inspected her nails as if this bored her.

“Meaning he will be able to directly access the stored power within the fade. He will then use that power to rend the Veil from existence. It will not be gentle,” Solas said.

“Or – and this is more likely – the lunatic will unleash forces that tear the world apart.” The witch side eyed Solas.

“In Redcliffe, I saw the future Corypheus built. We can’t let that happen,” Miriel interjected.

“’Twas always, was it not? The madman would burry us all.”

“Pardon me, but does this mean everything’s lost unless we get to the Eluvian before him?” Josephine asked, raising her voice ever so slightly.

Cullen’s face scrunched up in frustration as he stared at the War Table, thoroughly displeased. “Corypheus has a head start, no matter how quickly our army moves.”

“We should gather our allies before we march.” Josephine countered.

“Can we wait for them? We should send our spies ahead to the Arbor Wilds.” Leliana said.

“Without support from the soldiers? You’d lose half of them!” Cullen raised his voice only to be met with scowls.

Josephine shook her head, “Then what should we do?”

“Alright, calm down, this is not the time to panic. Josephine, have our allies send scouts to meet us in the Wilds. Leliana, your fastest agents will join them. Together, we’ll have enough spies to slow down Corypheus’s army until Cullen’s soldiers arrive.” Miriel was the calm in the storm, her voice low and steady.

Morrigan chortled, “Such confidence, but the Arbor Wilds are not so kind to visitors. Old elven magic lingers in those woods.”

Miriel rolled her eyes, “Oh dear, scary old elven magic, how will we ever survive? Solas, do you think yourself capable with assisting us with this scary magic?”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” Solas said, smiling at her. It was the cheeriest she had seen him act in a while and she found herself returning his small smile. Perhaps he would exit this funk that had settled over him since her birthday.

“And yes, Morrigan, I welcome your aid as well.” Miriel turned to Morrigan, who had crossed her arms but did not say anything.

“Any further instructions, Inquisitor?” Cullen asked. Miriel looked at her advisors, her amazingly talented advisors who saw this Inquisition through thick and thin. She looked to Morrigan and to Solas and she smiled.

“We began as a gang of rebel upstarts and refugees. We have been attacked, and have survived. We have attended the Winter Palace in the middle of an Orlesian civil war, and we prevailed. We assaulted one of the oldest fortresses in Thedas and triumphed. We have already done the impossible, the incredible – and have prevailed. And we will go into the Arbor Wilds, we will reach the Eluvian first, and we will prevail.” She paused and took a deep breath.

“None of this would have been possible without you, any of you. Thank you for all the hard work you have done. Now let’s go kick ancient magister ass.”

**

The Arbor Wilds. South of the Dales and a beautiful explosion of color and heat despite the coldness of the south. Contrary to what most thought, the Dalish knew damn well that the Arbor Wilds were full of ancient elven magic and they knew what most shems didn’t: stay the fuck away. Any Keeper who knew anything would tell you the same thing: some things could not be recovered, they had to be discovered on their own in their own time. Whatever was in the Arbor Wilds was one of those things.

Particularly brave, or stupid, Dalish scouts would occasionally wander close to the border of the wilds and later come back with strange tales. Tales of cold suddenly turning to warmth and shadows that seemed elven but also vaguely demonic or spirit like. The Dalish scouts who wandered too far in were never found again. And those that came back told everyone that it was best to _stay the fuck away_.

So when Morrigan said that she thought this was the location of a temple to Mythal in that “oooooo surprise, look I know so much and do you even know who Mythal is?” tone, Miriel smiled too sweetly at the woman.

“And who is this ‘Mythal?’” Miriel asked. Solas looked over to her and frowned.

“She is-

“Oh right, she is one of the most important goddesses in my religion. _My_ religion that _I_ have practiced my entire life. The goddess to whom I pray to for guidance on matters of justice and mercy _every day_.” Miriel arched her brow at Morrigan and pointed to her face. Her very Dalish face with its Vallaslin. And while her tattoos did not dedicate her to Mythal, it was Mythal that Miriel found herself praying to more and more frequently, it was Mythal who Miriel needed guidance from. So yeah, she knew damn well who Mythal was.

Solas snorted behind her and she had to resist breaking into a genuine smile at the sound. It was such an adorable and terribly distracting noise. Instead, Miriel continued to stare at the obviously peeved Morrigan.

“My sentiment stands that we ought to get to the Temple before the armies and their fumbling damage it.” The witch huffed, crossing her arms in indignation.

“That is first thing you have said that I have agreed on, let’s move out,” Miriel said, already taking off down the trampled path.

Explosions and distant screams echoed off the canopies, scattering the birds and shaking the once still forest. Miriel’s feet reveled in the texture of the soft soil and the waxy leaves, enjoying it much more than the hot sand or the wet, grainy dirt of the Hinterlands. The air, where there wasn’t smoke, was fresh and invigorating and it was _wonderful_. Her hand pulsed with imbued magic and as they got closer to the Temple, even as they fought through the red lyrium infested Templars and the addled Grey Wardens, Miriel felt more alive.

That is until they encountered the sentinels.

The scouts had reported these people but Miriel had assumed they were spirits or shadows or _something_ other than living people. So when a screeching, tall elven woman threw herself at Miriel, she was unprepared. Miriel jumped back just as the woman’s dagger came down, narrowly missing the blade.

“MIRIEL!” Solas shouted. A barrier suddenly formed up around her and a gigantic stone fist slammed into the assailant.

“NO!” Miriel screamed. “We don’t mean you harm! We are here to stop Corypheus!” She jumped down after the woman. These were not the people Miriel wanted to fight.

“Miriel!” Solas shouted, chasing after her. The woman, bleeding and crippled, lurched to her feet, baring her teeth at Miriel.

She sneered cruelly and a jumble of elven spilled from her lips. _What…what is she saying?!_ Impossible frustration and helplessness flooded Miriel.

“ _Please…no fight,_ ” it was the best elven she could string together and even then it wasn’t enough. The woman lunged, only to stop suddenly, eyes rolling back into her head as electricity burned her from the inside out. She gurgled, her body constricting unnaturally as she fell to the ground.

“NO!” Miriel shouted, turning accusingly toward Solas.

“Inquisitor, she was going to kill you,” he said softly. She shut her eyes and pursed her lips. Dammit. She hadn’t…she had thought those shadows the hunters had mentioned were spirits. She stared down at the contorted corpse, her face decorated with Mythal’s Vallaslin and her ears curved back like Miriel’s. A sick feeling settled in Miriel’s stomach and she suddenly couldn’t look at the clearly elven creature.

“We…we should move on, there are soldiers counting on us,” she said quietly, turning away.

“Let us hope we do not run into any more of these…beings,” Cassandra said. Solas’s brow furrowed in concern and he made sure to step just a bit closer than normal to Miriel. They were used to walking together, behind Cassandra and Bull, they had talked many occasions from this position. It was now crowded with Morrigan’s appearance.

“These…creatures appear to be guardians of the temple and forest,” the witch supposed. Miriel rolled her eyes.

“Figure that out by yourself?” Miriel snapped. Morrigan’s eyes narrowed.

“I am here by your request, Inquisitor,” the witch reminded her. Miriel took a deep breath and nodded her head.

“Yes, you’re right – I apologize, lady Morrigan, I am…this is particularly stressful, as I am sure you can imagine,” her speech was stiff and formal and she leaned just a bit closer to Solas.

Creators, she just wanted to bury her face into her chest and breathe him in. Clear her head. But she had to keep going, they weren’t close to being done here.

**

The Temple of Mythal. Her heart hammered in her chest and a great longing overcame her as she looked around. It was incredible. Her marked hand drifted to touch a wall and she inhaled sharply. Magic was seeded deep within this place and it was making the Mark feel…electrified was the best idea she could come up with. The magic in her palm felt alive and her heart felt like it was going to burst with a desire to have a world that was long dead.

Racing into the temple had been regrettable, as was watching the continued slaughter of her people. And they were her people, with their long, willowy frames and elegantly drawn Vallaslin. They were her people, defending a goddess that was no longer here.

_“The Dread Wolf tricked the Creators, sealing them away from the People forever.”_

_Miriel looked up at the keeper, her young eyes wide in confusion and sadness._

_“Why would he do that?” She asked. The keeper looked down at her with a sad smile._

_“We don’t know – when he locked our gods away, he took away our wisdom and knowledge. But,” the keeper paused, her lips pursed as she considered her response, “I believe that it was pride.”_

_“Pride?”_

_“Yes. I believe that the Dread Wolf sealed away the Creators and even the Forgotten Ones because he believed that he alone should be worshipped.”_

_“Pride,” Miriel whispered, still stunned that someone could be so heartless._

_“Pride,” the keeper repeated, keeping her dark gaze level with Miriel’s._

They ran across the bridge, the sickness in her stomach continuing to build. She slammed her small body against the door, trying to force it close to stop Corypheus’s assault. She would not let him have this sacred place, a place dedicated to the guardian of her people. She would die before she allowed that to happen.

So Miriel of clan Lavellan pushed and heaved until that door closed. Air whooshed by and light flared around the lines of the door. The Anchor flashed in her hand, green light dancing around her fingers.

“Inquisitor, are you alright?” Solas asked, taking her hand.

“I’m fine,” she said a bit too sharply. He raised an eyebrow at her but she was already turning away to walk along the overgrown path. Morrigan was saying something and Solas was watching her but Miriel was watching the little dust filaments floating through the air. Ferns and ivy crept over the walls and emerged between the stones, tickling her toes. Miriel closed her eyes and _breathed_ it all in. The dust, the magic, the longing that had soaked into this place for Mythal knew how many centuries.

“Inquisitor?” Morrigan said. Miriel ignored her.

“You’re her lover, this requires her attention.” The witch said, clearly talking to Solas.

Miriel stepped over the dead bodies, the blood on her feet not bothering her. She was silent as she approached the statue raised on the dais in the center of the courtyard. She stopped just short of ascending the stairs, feeling an identifiable pressure. Her knees were suddenly pressed into the ground and she lowering her head.

“Mythal’enaste,” she whispered, letting the waves of worship wash over her.

A hand was suddenly on her shoulder. Her head whipped around to see Solas bending down next to her.

“Miriel?” He murmured. Her hand went up to rest atop his.

“I…I feel…do you feel it, Solas? She’s _here_ , she is everywhere and I cannot…I cannot not feel it,” she leaned forward just as he leaned. Their foreheads came together and she gasped.

“I feel it too,” he whispered, his other hand stroking her cheek.

“Why isn’t she here, Solas? Why…why did he do this?” She asked. He stiffened and she supposed that wasn’t too unlike him. He didn’t really believe in all of this, in the Creators, in Mythal or the Dread Wolf. He probably thought they were all spirits or something, but to her…to her they were _Gods._

“You’ve shown me what we were and we were…beautiful and amazing and he took all of that away,” her heart was breaking for a world that been ripped from her and her sisters, from the newborn baby at Skyhold that she had barely held. And rage filled in the cracks. _How dare he take this from us!_

“Vhenan-

“Not to intrude, but time is of the essence here,” Morrigan said, stepping forward. Miriel turned her head, breaking the small interlude. Her eyes narrowed.

“For all your knowledge, lady Morrigan, you forget that this temple is sacred to my people.”

“Of course, Inquisitor, I did not mean to trespass on your beliefs,” the witch said.

“But we are pressed for time,” Cassandra insisted. Miriel sighed but she stood, wiping her face, nodding.

“Yes, we should move forward,” she resisted the urge to apologize. This was an authentic temple to one of the central figures in her pantheon, she was not going to apologize for feeling overwhelmed by her faith. Cassandra certainly never apologized for it.

Miriel walked up the stairs and stepped onto the platform. The tile suddenly lit up and she stepped back. The light slowly receded back into the tile.

“It appears the Temple’s magicks are still strong,” Morrigan commented. Miriel’s eyes widened and she smiled happily. She stepped back onto the tile, delighting in the ancient elven magic. That joy left her when she examined the ornate writing at the base of the statue.

“I…I can’t read ancient elven, the texts were reserved for the Keepers and Firsts.” It was humiliating. Here she was going on about this being her religion and her culture and heritage and she couldn’t even fucking read the damn statue.

Solas was suddenly standing next to her, taking her hand, “’Atish’all vir abelasan.’ It means –

“’Enter the Path of the Well of Sorrows,’” she said. Solas smiled and nodded.

“Yes.”

“There is something about knowledge. Respectful or pure. Shiven, shivennen…’Tis all I can translate. That it mentions the Well is a good omen,” Morrigan said. Miriel’s brow furrowed, ‘shiven’ sounded vaguely familiar…

“Supplicants to Mythal would have first paid obedience here. Following their path may aid entry.” Of course! That made sense. Miriel looked at the tile beneath her feet and smiled. It would be a pattern then. She stepped carefully onto the tile next the one she was on. The light lit up and something in her just felt _right_.

She moved quickly but deliberately, stepping on each tile to light them up, until she was back at the beginning. A great rush of energy swept through the courtyards and she heard a definitive click.

Glad to not have to break down ancient doors and desecrate this sacred space – what the fuck was _that_? Miriel blinked in confusion at spying something that most _definitely_ should not have been there. Statues to the gods were expected here. Statues of Elgar’nan, Falon’din, Dirthamen, even Andruil and Sylaise she would expect here but this…

In the corner of the courtyard stood a perfectly cut stone statue dedicated to the Dread Wolf, Fen’Harel with emeralds for eyes. Almost untrusting of her eyes, her feet took her to the foot of the statue.

She stared up at it, disbelieving.

“Why would _this_ be here?” Morrigan apparently also had the ability to pluck Miriel’s thoughts from her head.

“Something wrong?” Cassandra asked. _You have no idea, Cass._

“It depicts the Dread Wolf, Fen’Harel. In elven tales, he tricks their gods into sealing themselves away in the Beyond for all time. Setting Fen’Harel in Mythal’s greatest sanctum is as blasphemous as painting Andraste naked in the Chantry.” Morrigan explained. But her explanation did little to explain the…wrongness of this statue to be here, to be flagrantly jeweled and carved, worshipped almost.

“My clan set statues of the Dread Wolf outside our camp. They’re meant to frighten harmful spirits…” but the ancient elves would have used wards or some other magicks, not superstitious use of a statue of a god that was still being worshipped.

“Perhaps. I thought the ancient elves above quaint superstitions.” Morrigan contemplated.

“For all your ‘knowledge,’ Lady Morrigan, you cannot resist giving legend the weight of history. The wise do not mistake one for the other.” Solas admonished. Miriel couldn’t help but grin at her heart’s words. Morrigan’s knowledge was vast and useful, but this was Solas’s arena and Miriel took great joy in listening to him speak with authority on such matters.

“Pray tell, what meaning does our elven ‘expert’ sense lurking behind this?” Morrigan was goading him, but she had a point. If not superstition, what was this statue doing here? _What don’t we know?_

“None we can discern by staring at it,” Solas quipped. Miriel rolled her eyes, finally moving away from the vexing statue to look at her bickering mage advisors.

“You two look like you’re about to kiss when you argue,” she teased. Solas’s nose twitched in disapproval, although there was a slight flush to his cheeks that she reveled in. Morrigan huffed.

“’Tis time we pressed forward.”

“Agreed,” oh he was so perturbed! It was adorable. Miriel grinned wickedly at him and he shook his head, but a small smile was trying to form.

**

“We have men dying out there, right now! And you want to tell me that you want to stop and…and do a stupid ritual that may not even help?” Bull was yelling. Miriel’s fists were clenched, her face turned away.

“This is sacred-

“This is ridiculous!”

“There are most likely more precautions ahead, and this is an ancient elven temple. There are bound to traps for those who do not pay proper respects to Mythal –

“A goddess that does not even exist,” Cassandra scoffed. Miriel whipped around, gold eyes alight.

“She exists as much as your Maker exists,” she growled. She had no doubt that if this were a temple dedicated the precious shemlen Maker or Andraste that there would be no question in honoring the rights. But because it was dedicated to Mythal it was suddenly deemed lesser. Barbaric. Savage. Ridiculous.

Her faith was as real and as legitimate as Cassandra’s, and it was beautiful.

“This is the Inquisitor’s decision, and as members of the Inquisition, we should honor it,” Solas intervened. Bull shook his head.

“Odd words coming from a man who values independent though.”

“Enough! Do you think barreling forward without any regard to the very real magical traps and passes would benefit us or the soldiers? How many soldiers will die because we didn’t pay heed to these things? We are paying our respects, that is final,” Inquisitor Lavellan declared. It silenced all of them. Morrigan smiled wryly while Solas looked vaguely proud of her. Bull and Cassandra were still miffed but they continued to follow her as she walked the Petitioner’s Path.

Every time a tile lit up under her feet, Miriel felt a small rush of excitement. Here she was, a Dalish Hunter of the Lavellan clan, walking the Petitioner’s Path to the inner sanctum of Mythal’s Temple. For all her accomplishments as Inquisitor, this was the most stupendous. Her companions may not understand her emotion but Creators, how jealous Rana and Maren and all of her friends will be when she tells this tale! The history she could bring to the Keeper and to the Arlathvhen that was to convene in a few years.

The last puzzle was solved with a loud whir of magic and a sudden wind blowing through the old courtyard.

“It seems that the way is clear,” Solas commented as they made their way back to unlocked door. They were just about to reach the door when a statue caught Miriel’s eye. She turned and headed into the small space, staring up at almost familiar face.

“This…this is Andruil,” she whispered, her fingers touching her vallaslin.

“Who?” Cassandra asked.

“Andruil, Lady of the Hunt. She is my patron goddess,” Miriel said softly, still staring at the beautiful but strangely haunting mosaic.

“Or a goddess of sacrifice, according to some,” Solas interjected. Miriel’s brow furrowed and uneasiness filled her belly. Any discussion about her religion with Solas was tenuous at best, so she had stayed clear of it. Her prayers were almost always internal and those that weren’t…she had figured out ways to be alone. But here they were, standing in the most beautiful place she had ever seen, the history of her people steeped in here.

Morrigan approached the motif. “Truly? I wonder if that is why Andruil’s patron animal is the hare. ‘Tis said that the Dalish invoke her before a chase. Especially if they happen to be stalking humans.” Wait, seriously? This woman, this…shem was seriously talking about Miriel’s culture like this? With Miriel right here?

But then again, the clan difference could be stark. And Miriel feared that the rational clans such as her own were becoming a rarity.

“My clan avoided human settlements, never mind raiding them,” it was a diplomatic answer when all she wanted to do was to scream at all the intruders to leave. This was a place for her and…and for Solas. Morrigan didn’t belong here. Cassandra and Bull _definitely_ didn’t belong here.

“A sound tactic. If one has room to maneuver out of harm’s way. Other Dalish clans do not keep so scrupulously hidden.” Miriel supposed Morrigan was right but it was difficult to imagine her people being so bold and short-sighted as to actively raid human settlements. She knew they existed, but it was an unpleasant thought to think of them invoking the goddess Miriel had been dedicated to when pursuing mindless slaughter. Andruil to Miriel was grace and fierceness, beauty in power and skill – not a blood thirsty murderer.

Solas claimed that she was a goddess of sacrifice, which Miriel could see far more easily than Morrigan’s idea. She could see her lady standing before an altar, hands covered in blood after gutting a hare. A sacrifice for perhaps one of her acolytes, or a sacrifice to her by an acolyte.

Whatever Andruil was or was not, they had to move forward. Miriel was the last to turn away from the statue, her feet almost dragging as she approached the large glittering door at the end of the courtyard.

It opened with a great clang to a dimly lit room. Miriel couldn’t help but turn her head all around, her eyes starved for every little detail. Everything was gold or gilded and shimmering and it was _beautiful._ It was such a stark contrast from the wooden aravels swathed in bright fabrics of greens, reds, and blues. The ceilings were high and there were motifs of dragons and wealth and…this wasn’t Dalish.

“’Tis not what I expected. What was this chamber used for…” Morrigan wondered.

They strode more fully into the room and her ears twitched. She automatically notched an arrow, keeping her bow low but ready for whatever came.

“We’re being watched,” Miriel warned just as creatures such as the one before suddenly appeared, surrounding them and point their own bows at them.

Miriel startled and raised her bow. Solas brought up a barrier but kept his hands low. Cassandra assumed a defensive position and Bull readied his axe.

An unarmed hooded figure strode across the elevated platform at the end of the room. His arms were crossed and Miriel could guess at the impressive scowl he wore.

“Venavis,” he intoned, waving his hand half-heartedly in acknowledgement of their presence.

“You…are unlike the other invaders. You have the features of those who call themselves elvhen. You bear the mark of magic which is…familiar.” The Anchor suddenly flared in her hand, prickles of pain lancing through her palm.

“How has this come to pass?” The man continued, “What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?” He asked. Miriel’s heart thundered in her chest as she quickly contemplated her answer. _Don’t screw this up._

“They are my enemies, as well as yours.” She said carefully. He contemplated her words for only a moment before answering.

“I am called Abelas. We are Sentinels, tasked with standing against those who trespass on sacred ground. We wake only to fight, to preserve this place. Our numbers diminish with each invasion. I know what you seek. Like all who come before, you wish to take from the Vir’Abelasan.”

“’The Place of the Way of Sorrows.’ He speaks of the Well!” Morrigan whispered quickly to Miriel. Abelas’s eyes narrowed, a not so carefully disguised sneer contorting his face.

“It is not _for_ you. It is not for _any_ of you.” He snarled.

Miriel stared up at Abelas, her mind processing a dozen things. She thought about how sad it was that more and more of these people, who looked so much like her people, died with each coming invasion. There have been multiple invasions, suggesting that this place has not stayed hidden amongst the other groups in Thedas as the Dalish had originally hoped. And the Well was sacred - its desecration was no longer on the table. But most importantly, she realized that these were actual _elvhen_ – elves before the fall, before the gods had been sealed away by the Dread Wolf and his evil plot. These people didn’t just _look_ like her people, they _were_ her people. Old and sealed away to protect one of the holiest of places to their people.

Miriel took a step forward. Several elves closed in closer to her, readying their weapons. She held up her hand in peace, showing she meant no harm. She then looked up at the man called sorrow and felt her heart break.

“You’re elves from ancient times? Before the Tevinter Imperium destroyed Arlathan?” She asked almost too quietly. Abelas’s nose twitched.

“The shemlen did not destroy Arlathan. We Elvhen warred upon ourselves. By the time the doors to this sanctuary closed, our time was over. We awaken only when called, and each time find the world more foreign than before. It is meaningless. We endure. The Vir’Abelasan must be preserved.” Her head spun at his words. This was…this was so far from what she had been taught her entire life.

All Dalish children, no matter the clan, knew a few core tenants of the elven past. First there were the Creators and the Forgotten Ones. The Creators were good to the People while the Forgotten Ones embodied such things as pestilence and disease. Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, was counted among both parties – privy to knowledge each faction had of the other. And it was this knowledge that granted him the ability to eventually trick both the Forgotten Ones and the Creators into sealing them away forever. With the Gods gone, Arlathan and Elvhenan were weak and vulnerable to the Tevinter shemlen who waged war upon the ancient elves and won. The Tevinter mages then enslaved the People and with exposure to the humans came the quickening of their blood. Their immortality and inherit magic were lost while the magisters pillaged and ransacked the remains of the elven empire for which they built their own empire upon.

It was what she had believed her whole life, essential to her life and faith…and it had been torn apart in a single utterance.

_We were wrong…_ the phrase echoed in her head, even as she continued to speak.

“What _is_ the Vir’Abelasan, exactly?” There were no tales of it that she knew of.

“It is a path, one walked only by those who toiled in Mythal’s favor.” Abelas answered cryptically. It wasn’t so unlike the way the Keepers spoke, though.

“He speaks of priests, perhaps?” Morrigan suggested and Miriel supposed that wasn’t a horrible idea.

“More than that you need not know.” Miriel couldn’t think, her head was too full, her world was too fractured. Solas. Yes, her love was always cool under pressure and could speak to Abelas, he could convince them to help or allowed to be helped instead.

“Solas, perhaps he’ll listen to you.” Miriel said quickly. Solas turned to her, his expression aghast at her suggestion.

“What shall I say, Inquisitor?” He demanded.

“Shall I sway him from a millennia of service by virtue of our shared blood? He clings to all that remains of his world, because he lacks the power to restore it.” Solas protested, watching the Sentinels with a wistful appreciation and excitement. She watched him in confusion, he…was refusing to help her? But…fenedhis. Fine, she could do this, she just had to focus past the broken parts.

“Our people have lost everything. They need you. They could learn from you!” She cried, pleading with the ancient man. But Abelas sneered and she saw the frustrated disgust build within him as he stepped forward.

“’Our’ people? The ones we see in the forest, shadows wearing Vallaslin? You are _not_ my people!” He exclaimed, punctuating his words with an accusatory pointed finger. Miriel’s heart sank as his disgust twisted into rage.

“And you have invaded our temple as readily as the shemlen.” He accused.

“We knew this place was sacred. We’ve respected it as best we could,” his frustration and rage did not sway her from pleading with him. She did not wish to fight him or any of her people. And yes, they _were_ her people whether they realized it or not.

Abelas was still for a moment, gold eyes intense as he contemplated her words.

“I believe you,” he said simply. Miriel’s heart lightened and she felt like she could breathe – he believed her, thank the Creators.

“Trespassers you are, but you have followed rites of petition. You have shown respect to Mythal. If these others are enemies of yours, we will aid you in destroying them. When this is done, you will be permitted to depart…and never return.” It was a compromise, one that pained her but it made sense and she could not fault him for wanting to seal this all away again. _We could learn so much…_ But opportunity did not always translate to ability and so she was stuck.

“This is our goal, is it not? There is no reason to fight these Sentinels,” Solas argued, his face drawn and his tone almost pleading.

“Consider carefully. You must stop Corypheus, yes, but you may also need the Well for your own.” Morrigan countered, whispering into the Inquisitor’s ear. In the end, there was no question of what she would do.

“I accept your offer.” She proclaimed loudly. Solas sighed in relief.

“You will be guided to those you seek,” Abelas intoned.

“As for the Vir’Abelasan…it shall not be despoiled, even if I must destroy it myself.” He turned away, heading out to an opening door. Magic suddenly flared in the room and Morrigan was launching herself after Abelas.

“NO!” She cried, transforming herself into a black bird.

“Morrigan!” Miriel cried in surprise and warning. But Morrigan flew in just as the door closed, sealing her and Abelas into a chase to the Well.

None of the other elves seemed particularly bothered by the events, however. They stood stoically, watching Miriel and the rest of them carefully and quietly. She bowed her head in respect, hoping to indicate her supplication to their shared goddess.

One of the robed elves approached their group. Miriel could not make their features, though she suspected some injury of the leg for them to be leaning against their staff so much.

“Mythal’enaste,” they said in greeting. Miriel smiled and inclined her head.

“Mythal’enaste.” She replied. The guide then held out their free hand, gesturing for the group to begin walking.

“So Morrigan chased off on her own,” Miriel said, trying to figure out this entire…shit storm really.

“She seeks to protect the Well of Sorrows.” Solas said, his voice full of sad and passionate emotion. Somehow, Miriel resisted the urge to reach over and take his hand in reassurance. _This must be hard on him too_ , she thought, seeing the heartbreak so clearly on his face.

They continued to follow the guide through the beautiful temple. They would occasionally dip away from the guide to assist the elvhen in fighting the red Templars, but other than that…Miriel was insatiable in this temple. Her eyes devoured everything and her hands itched to touch and feel and to experience. Her heart was heavy with a deep-seated longing and _Creators_ why couldn’t she come back?

She knew the Dalish could help these people. She knew that her people could work together to restore this temple to its glory. It could become the beacon of hope her dying people desperately needed. And with the Arbor Wilds effectively unsettled by the human populace…she really should not get ahead of herself, especially since none of this was an option, but she could dream. She could hope.

There wasn’t enough time to explore and appreciate the temple. She could take a note here and there, a tracing or a quick scribble of some writing on the wall – but it was nothing compared to the worship and in depth study she wanted to do.

This place…it was untouched by the humans. It was untarnished history of her people! And she was expected to just…leave it all behind, like it didn’t matter. As if this wasn’t the single most important discovery for her people since they were enslaved. She couldn’t…her heart was breaking and if she did anything to stop it, she would slaughter that one link she desperately needed to preserve.

So she followed the guide until they came to a great door. The guide swept their arm out and then backed away. So here it was, the last door before the Well. Taking a deep breath, Miriel opened it.

Her breath hitched. Her heart stopped. The world seemed to grow still as she gazed upon the beauty of the inner Sanctum.

_Oh._

For the rest of her life, Miriel would be unable to explain this moment. It was so singularly beautiful and overwhelming and horribly _sorrowful_. It was a time capsule, untouched and unsullied from the passage of time. The stone wasn’t weathered; the trees weren’t overgrown. A waterfall flowed freely and evenly. And yet a pervasive melancholy swallowed the place.

Tears flowed silently down her face as she took it all in. The Well of Sorrows inside the great Temple of Mythal.

She was unworthy.

“The Well of Sorrows,” she murmured, gazing out at the beauty.

“So Mythal endures,” Solas said dazedly, joining her at the railing. She was so busy trying to disentangle herself from the sorrow of the place that she could barely process Solas’s words.

The moment was broken when she heard Samson’s sneering from below.

Right. Reality. She was the Inquisitor and she had a job to do.

**

For all of his bravado and red lyrium, Samson went down rather quickly once his armor was deactivated. Miriel was tempted to remove his head right then and there when magic suddenly charged the air.

She turned her head to see rocks being pulled together to form a walkway. Abelas was then running up the rocks, leaping from rock to rock, racing bird Morrigan to the well.

“Abelas!” Miriel yelled, running after him. She threw herself up the stairs, trying to climb them as quickly as Abelas. _Have to stop Morrigan._

She reached the top just as Morrigan landed in a cloud of purple smoke. She shifted back into her normal self and Abelas stopped short, stuck between Miriel and Morrigan.

“You heard his parting words, Inquisitor. The elf seeks to destroy the Well of Sorrows!” Morrigan glared at Abelas and he shook his head.

“The sanctum is despoiled at last,” he said ominously, as if he had been expecting it somehow.

“You would have destroyed the Well yourself, given the chance,” Morrigan accused.

“To keep it from your grasping fingers! Better it to be lost than bestowed upon the undeserving!”

“Fool! You’d let your people’s legacy rot in the shadows!” Morrigan continued to aggress. Miriel walked forward, putting herself between Morrigan and Abelas.

“Enough,” she told the witch.

“You cannot honestly –

“I said, _enough!_ ” She said more forcefully, staring Morrigan down. Miriel had had enough of Morrigan’s bullshit. The woman believed to know _everything_ there was about this place and the need for the Well, but she knew next to nothing on the nuances and the religious and cultural significance in place here. She was ignorant.

“The Well clearly offers power, Inquisitor. If that power can be turned against Corypheus, can you afford not to use it?” Morrigan insisted. Miriel’s lips pursed but she could unfortunately see the witch’s point. She turned and looked at the well, its water almost deceptively clear.

Samson had said that the Well contained wisdom. And she could feel the power rolling off of the Well.

And the image of Corypheus emerging from the black ichor of that warden’s body would not leave her mind.

How were they supposed to fight a creature that could simply…come back?

“Do you even know what you ask?” Abelas shook his head in his frustration. He turned to the Well, glaring at it.

“As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years, they would pass knowledge on… through this.” Miriel’s eyes widened at the implications of such a thing.

Abelas turned to her, his gold eyes knowing, “All that we were. All that we knew. It would be lost forever.” Despoiled. Tainted with their fumbling – this wasn’t power they were taking…it was a culture’s last remaining pure essence.

Her hand flew to her mouth in emotion. This was…she couldn’t…

“This…can’t be easy…holding onto what is left…” she murmured. Abelas’s face softened somewhat and for a brief moment, she saw the toll the weight of the ages had on him.

“You cannot imagine. Each time we awaken, it slips further from our grasp.” She desperately wanted to hold this man, to take him to the Inquisition and throw all of their resources into restoration and rebuilding. But it could not be done. Corypheus was still a threat with his supposed immortality, red lyrium dragon, and stolen elven orb.

“There are other places, friend. Other duties. Your people yet linger.” Solas stepped forward, suddenly earnest. Miriel turned to him but he was facing Abelas, an intense look on his face.

Abelas turned his head to Solas, a shaven brow arching in suspicion.

“Elvhen such as you?” He asked. Miriel’s ear twitched in annoyance. Solas was elven. _She_ was elven – the modern elves _were elven._ Abelas’s continued dismissal was grating but it was unbearably understandable.

“Yes. Such as I.” Solas stood tall under Abelas’s scrutiny, refusing to break eye contact. Abelas was the first to turn away, his expression distant.

“You have shown respect to Mythal, and there is a righteousness in you in I cannot deny. Is that your desire? To partake of the Vir’Abelasan as best you can, to fight your enemy?”

“Not without your permission,” she quickly said. As much as she still believed that this was part of her culture and history as well…he was the guardian here. He had lived this, had known it better than she ever had.

“One does not obtain permission. One obtains the right,” their gold eyes locked and she realized that he was judging her. Not like the nobles at Halamshiral but like…like she judged the people brought before her asking for allowances of their behavior.

She straightened her back under his gaze, steeling herself as he judged. Finally, Abelas moved away and Miriel was left standing there, unknowing if he approved or –

“The Vir’Abelasan may be too much for a mortal to comprehend. Brave it if you must, but know you this: you shall be bound forever to the will of Mythal.” Oh. _Oh._ That was…

“Bound? To a goddess who no longer exists, if she even did?” Morrigan asked. Somehow Miriel managed to not hit or yell at the woman.

“Bound, as we are bound. The choice is yours,” his words were heavy with meaning. Before he could leave, Miriel stepped forward.

“Abelas…is it possible that Mythal…could she…” she paused, hope blooming forcefully in her chest, “could she still be here?”

Abelas contemplated it for a moment, his face surprisingly relaxed as if he was genuinely pleased that she had asked such a question.

“Anything is possible,” he supposed. Miriel grinned at the hope in her heart and in his words. It was possible.

“Elven legend states that Mythal was tricked by Fen’Harel and banished to the Beyond.” Morrigan interjected.

“’Elven’ legend is wrong. The Dread Wolf had nothing to do with her murder.”

“Wait, what?” Miriel asked before Morrigan could say anything. _Murder?_ She was banished. Tricked. Murder was…that was completely different.

“She was slain, if a god truly can be. Betrayed by those who destroyed this temple. Yet the Vir’Abelasan remains. As do we. That is something.” But it answered nothing!

_Mythal was slain._

_The Dread Wolf had nothing to do with it._

Her world…the stories she had grown up with, the ones tied to her heart and being….

It was all wrong.

“Are you leaving the temple?” She asked softly. Abelas shook his head.

“Our duty ends. Why remain?”

Solas then stepped forward, oddly eager. “There is a place for you, lethallin… if you seek it.” His eyes were intense and puzzling to Miriel. What…now he was speaking to them? Trying to instill hope?

_I do not understand._ And that pain hurt worst of all.

Abelas cocked his head slightly, considering Solas’s words.

“Perhaps there are places the shemlen have not touched. It may be that only Uthenera awaits us. The blissful sleep of eternity, never to awaken. If fate is kind.”

“You could come with us. Fight Corypheus. He killed our people.” Abelas’s eyes narrowed at her continued use of ‘our’ but she was stubborn.

“We killed ourselves, long ago,” was his only reply.

“Malas amelin ne halam, Abelas.” Solas spoke elven perfectly, his lips and tongue curving around the letters just so. Miriel was envious of his mastery of their language, and Abelas seemed to be at least mildly appreciative.

With a nod to Solas, Abelas finally strode away, his feet making no sound as he disappeared back into the temple.

“His name. Abelas means sorrow. I said…I hope he finds a new name.” Solas sad wistfully. His eyes were distant and Miriel wondered what he was thinking.

Worry sprouted anew in her. He had been so distant lately, so…disconnected from her. And here he was, speaking their old language and hovering close to her like he used to. She could feel his presence, looming and loving but at the same time…concerning.

Morrigan turned back to the well and gestured to the large mirror behind it, “You’ll note the intact Eluvian. I was correct on that count, at least.”

“Is it still a threat? Can Corypheus use it to travel the Fade?” That would make this sanctum all that more strategically important.

“You recall when I took you through my Eluvian, I said each required a key? The Well _is_ the key. Take its power, and Mythal’s last Eluvian will be no more use to Corypheus than glass.” Morrigan eyed the Well, eyeing it, feeling its power. Miriel could feel it too…the draw.

“I did not expect the Well to feel so… hungry,” Morrigan whispered, appearing almost mesmerized by the pool.

“I…yes,” Miriel agreed, staring into Well. The water was still and yet…it pulled at her, and she felt a low unintelligible whisper in the back of her mind, urging her to step forward.

“Knowledge begets a hunger for more.” Morrigan murmured almost absent-mindedly. With great strength, Morrigan moved away from the Well to look at Miriel. The elf took a deep breath and met Morrigan’s eyes.

“I am willing to pay the price the Well demands. I am also the best suited to use its knowledge in your service.” Morrigan said. Miriel blinked at the woman, dazed and somewhat confused as to why she would ever believe that a _shemlen_ such as herself would ever be qualified to partake of an elven power.

“Or more likely, to your own ends.” Solas interjected, breaking the odd reverie that had befallen over Miriel and Morrigan.

“What would you know of my ‘ends,’ elf?” Morrigan bit back.

“You are a glutton drooling at the sight of a feast. You cannot be trusted.” He continued, his outrage uncommonly visible as he gesticulated wildly. Miriel looked back at the Well. Solas was right. Morrigan could not be trusted with this.

“Of those present, I alone have the training to make use of this. Let me drink, Inquisitor,” Morrigan pleaded. She sounded so distant with the whispers Miriel’s head.

“You ‘alone’? This is _my_ heritage,” Miriel murmured off-handedly.

“I have studied the oldest lore. I have delved into mysteries of which you could only dream! Can you _honestly_ tell me there is anyone better suited?” Morrigan shot back. Miriel finally tore her gaze away from the pool to arch her brow at Morrigan.

“What of Solas?” She asked, her eyes darting to her lover. He quickly shook his head. And as if to make his point even more abundantly clear, he took a small step back.

“No. Do not ask me again.” He said tersely. Well, that was that then.

Miriel’s gaze drifted back to the Well and she sighed. If Solas refused and she knew Morrigan could not be trusted let alone that she was not an appropriate bearer of this…

“I would be,” her voice was small compared to those around her, but it was strong and full of conviction.

“Inquisitor, you cannot be serious.” Solas was by her side in a flash.

“You lead the Inquisition. This is not a risk you can take. I have the best chance of making use of the Well… for everyone. Let me drink.” Morrigan said quickly, but the more Miriel thought of it…the more it made sense. She could not come back to this place, but she could perhaps take as much of it as possible back with her.

But there was that price.

“Looking at it, listening to it… that’s not just knowledge from the ancient elven priests. It’s their will.”

“How would you know such a thing?” Morrigan asked, skeptical.

“ _That’s_ what Abelas was telling us. The collective will of the priests puts anyone who drinks under a compulsion, a geas. Can’t you feel it?” How could she not feel it? That pull, the whispers…it was maddening to try to resist from walking into the pool right now.

“That… _would_ match the legends, but it does not tell us what the geas entails. I would still use the Well, but you are right. We must be cautious.” But such cautiousness was difficult when the whispers were beautiful and the water was glistening perfectly in the filtered light.

“Thoughts?” Miriel asked, turning to Solas. She didn’t care for Bull or Cassandra’s thoughts on the matter. She knew what they would say – destroy the Well. It was the only out of the question outcome.

“She is right about only one thing: we should take the power which lies in that Well. But it need not be you who takes it,” Solas continued to argue, looking into her eyes.

Solas had such beautiful eyes. They were grey-blue with flecks of purple surrounding his pupil. She loved his eyes…they reminded her of the pool she stood next to.

_Drink_. The word echoed in her mind and she blinked.

“Solas, if not me then it is Morrigan,” she tried to explain but Solas’s expression did not change. He was stubborn, her lover. A man who knew his thoughts and himself – a good man.

“Enough deliberation. Give me your decision.” Morrigan said and Miriel supposed the witch was right. The time for talk was done.

She let go of Solas’s hand slowly, feeling each of his callouses slip from her palm as she strode to the edge of the Well.

“Then it is me,” she said quietly. Her foot hovered briefly over the water and she wondered if it would be cool or warm. Would it feel at all?

Solas was grabbing her shoulders, then, twisting her around so she could face him.

“Inquisitor – Miriel… _Vhenan_ , please!” He pleaded. She smiled, bringing her marked hand up to caress his cheek.

She smiled at him, “It’s for our people, Solas, I cannot let them down now.” And with that, she slipped from his grasp and strode into the Well.

All at once the whispers turned into loud shouting in a language that was only vaguely familiar.

_DRINK!_ They demanded, and unable to resist the pull any longer, Miriel cupped her hands and brought the water to her mouth and drank.

Magic surged through her body – more than she could take.

“AH!” She cried out in pain, falling into the Well.

“VHENAN!” She was distantly aware of Solas crying for her but all she felt was the chaotic and warm embrace of unfamiliar voices. They repeated themselves over and over, whispering and touching her somehow, the water swirling around her body, pouring into her –

_MYTHAL’ENASTE._

Yes. Mythal’enaste. She understood it now. _Mythal’enaste._

“ _Garas quenathra?”_ The voices then whispered.

“Why am I here?” She asked, confused and overwhelmed as they continued to bombard her body with magic and knowledge.

“Corypheus… a magister wishes to rip the Veil open. I must learn how to stop him.” She explained, though she was certain that saying these things meant little.

The whispers grew agitated and more intense.

“If you can help me vanquish Corypheus, take whatever price you wish…let me help our people,” she pleaded. The whispers were quiet for only a moment. Then a surge of magic, larger and more ferocious than the others, overcame her.

_Vir Mythal’enaste._

**

“Inquisitor? Miriel! _Vhenan_ , answer me!” That was…Solas speaking, correct?

“ _I don’t…Solas?_ ” Her voice sounded strange, why did it sound strange.

_You are not speaking in your shemlen language._ A thought not her own drifted through her mind.

_Oh…I should…I should speak the proper language._ She thought, earning a scoff of indignation.

_Open your eyes, da’len._ Another whisper, this one softer, encouraging.

_Alright._

Miriel opened her eyes and flinched at the brightness.

_AH!_

_You will adjust._ The kind voice continued.

_She is a mortal, how will she ever comprehend?_

Solas was at her side in a moment, his hands tracing all over her as he stared into her wide eyes.

“Vhenan?” He asked. She supposed that things must be looking very bad indeed if he was being so forthright with her term of endearment in front of the others.

“Ma’sa’lath,” she murmured, smiling up at him. She lifted her hand…er, she _tried_ to lift her hand.

_Why can I not move?_

_The magic is still fresh, your body needs time to recover._ Helpful said.

_A sign of weakness._ The other groused.

“Solas…I can’t…I can’t move right now,” her voice sounded raw and tired. Solas wasted no time in picking her up, carrying her bridal style.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do that?” Bull offered, but Solas shook his head.

“She is my responsibility.” Responsibility? She was his _lover_ , his _vhenan_ , not a fucking pet or something.

_He is trying to care for you._

_He is infantilizing me._

_You cannot move, da’len. Let him help you._ Fine, she listened to the kind voice and allowed Solas to cradle her to his chest.

“How do you feel?” Soals asked. She blinked up at him.

“Very full,” she joked, grinning up at him.

_He is so beautiful._

_Well done, da’len._

There was a loud noise. A scream and roar rolled into one and Miriel realized that Corypheus has found them. Solas’s grip on her tightened and he was suddenly running. She bounced in his arms, unable to move to grip him back.

She should be scared.

She should be terrified.

But she _knows_.

_Andaran’atishan, da’len._ A new voice – woman’s voice, echoed in her head. But it was distant, foreign.

“Solas…we should stay…” she gasped.

“No.”

“But… _Mythal,_ ” she breathed, using her only energy to turn in her head to see the most beautiful woman in existence emerge from the remains of the Well.

Her heart sang and then the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. 
> 
> Please leave kudos, comment, etc. Y'all are the best!


	43. Because I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas confronts Miriel about drinking from the Well and makes an important decision. SFW

The servants were whispering about her. They talked about how the Inquisitor was different somehow, how she wasn’t quite Miriel Lavellan anymore. There are several theories as to why, Miriel’s personal favorite is that she isn’t actually Miriel Lavellan but a demon masquerading. That the real Miriel either fled or died and then some horrible demon had taken over her body. It had a dramatic feel, a touch of horror and it suits the situation.

She despised the idea that she is possessed. Not because it wasn’t true, but because it was a bit too close to home for her comfort.

And the fact is that she wasn’t possessed. She wasn’t. But she was different, changed, because of the Well. Her head and her soul were full fit to bursting and yet more room had to be continually added as yet another new whisper floated into her awareness.

She was bedridden for the first three days, trying to sort through it all with Patience and Determination, the two spirits who had spoken to her at the Well.

Her advisors and friends had visited her multiple times and Solas never left her side, but everyone watched her the same way – with uneasy caution and no small amount of pity. She had barely been responsive those three days. It was just so difficult to be responsive when there is so much. At one point it had felt like she had grown a hundred ears and each one heard something different. Another time, she had a thousand mouths – each one tasting and kissing and eating differently.

To say it was overwhelming was an understatement.

But somehow, with the help of Patience and Determination, Miriel managed to get it all under control. Each voice had its own box that it belonged to, and that box could and would only be accessed if she asked. That was how she found out about Corypheus’s dragon and about summoning Mythal. She had asked and they had provided.

Patience and Determination were mostly free in her head, little managers that waylaid pertinent information from the boxes to Miriel. It was a serviceable arrangement, one that she suspected would be revised in time as she grew into the full power of the Well. And Miriel had every intention of doing that.

On the fourth day, after meeting with her advisors and checking up on her adorable niece, Miriel stepped into the rotunda. Solas had begun a new mural depicting the events of the Temple and it was already almost finished. So…perhaps he had left her side while she was sorting through the Well. She had spent a great deal of time adrift in memories and thoughts and sensations that were not her own, it would have been easy to lose track of time and therefore Solas.

He was not painting when she entered the room, only staring unhappily at what he already painted.

“Solas, I am feeling –

“I begged you not to drink from the Well. Why could you not have listened?” He all but yelled. Miriel’s eyes widened and she instinctively took a step back.

“Solas…”

“You gave yourself into the service an ancient elven god!” He accused. Her brows came together and she held up her hands. She understood his anger, she had subjugated part of her will and he disagreed with that. She knew that. It made sense. And yet….

“And what does that mean, exactly?” She asked, trying to keep her voice calm and level. The redirection appeared to work because the anger left him and his face softened.

“You are Mythal’s creature now. Everything you do, whether you know it or not, will be for her. You have given up a part of yourself.” He said. Emotion suddenly flooded her body, emotion she did not fully understand, mostly because much of it was not her own. Anger, confusion, indignation, frustration, sorrow, resignation, apathy – where did they end and she begin?

Her brow furrowed and her mouth curled up in an ironic smile, “You don’t even believe in the ancient elven gods!” She snapped back with more anger than she felt. Dammit, she was in control. She was Miriel of clan Lavellan. Daughter to Seran and Tassan, sister to Rana and Maren. Hunter, hunting partner to the late Dinas.

“I don’t believe they were gods, no, but I believe that they existed! Something existed to start the legends! If not gods, then mages, or spirits, or something we’ve never seen. And you are bound to one of them now.” She could see it in his eyes. He was not angry with her, but she was the closest thing to that which caused his anger.

Miriel took a step back, her expression resolved.

“I gave up a part of myself to help my people. You heard Abelas, we were never going to be allowed back. The Temple could be in _ruins_ by now. This,” she gestured to her skull, “is all that I could take to bring back to our people. I may be Mythal’s creature, but I am first and foremost part of the People. Being Dalish is about being part of a group – selfishness gets you killed… or worse. So yes, I gave up a part of myself, but I did it for my people. I did it to gain pieces for my people. And at this point, I should not have to explain that to you,” she then turned on her heel and stormed out of the rotunda.

She had barely exited the room when she felt her heart clench in intense emotion.

_What is this?_ She asked.

_Our people were always a passionate one. He is your Vhenan, bearing his anger is harmful to you._ Patience explained and she nodded.

_Ma serannas, Patience._

_I exist to serve you, da’len._

_That does not change my gratitude. Ma serannas._

_….Then you are welcome, da’len._

Miriel stumbled away from the rotunda, still stunned at the incredible emotion she was feeling. She wanted to reconcile immediately, to tell him that she loved him and that she knew he was upset and that was fine. She wanted to tell him that she was still her, just…extra.

_He scorns your gift, a gift that will benefit all of you._ Determination sneered.

_He is concerned for me._

_You have a purpose, Miriel, and if he cannot understand that, he is simply in your way._

_Do not listen to her, da’len, the years of stagnation have soured her._

_I speak the truth. Those who stand in your way are of no use to you._

_Concern is not opposition, Determination. There is a difference._ The spirits were quiet for a moment before Patience fluttered in pride within her.

_You are wise beyond your years and gift, da’len. Well done._ They were quiet once more and she was grateful.

Miriel went about her day with relative ease. Though Determination and Patience wanted to have choice words with the resident Red Jenny. Miriel kept the lid tight on her mind, though, only settling in for scowling at Sera.

Vivienne called Mythal and all of the Creators demons.

Bull grumbled about the mumbo-jumbo shit at the Temple.

Cassandra only appeared to be more open minded.

Frustration and anger built within her and it was difficult to stamp it down. She had just tapped into her people’s history and religion – something that had been thought lost forever. And it had been reduced to fucking demon worship.

She stalked off to the stables, hoping to calm down by brushing the halla. Instead she found her people, all discussing in hushed tones. Theron spied her suddenly and hushed the group. They all turned around with wide, reverent eyes.

Dhavon was the first to stand. Miriel watched him closely as he slowly stepped towards her. Just as he was about to reach her, he fell to a knee and held his hand out.

“I…I ask for your blessing –

“Dhavon, stand up, I am not Mythal herself.” Miriel rolled her eyes, smiling at him as he stood.

“The shemlen have kept you from us this entire time, we were worried that they thought you possessed by a demon instead of imbued with the wisdom of our people.”

“You sound so wise!”

“I practiced that line for days. How are you feeling?” He asked, clasping her on the shoulder and guiding her to her people. Rana and Maren smiled brilliantly at her, and little Venna was handed to her.

_Aneth’ara, da’len. Ar lath ma._

**

She spent the rest of the day with her people, leaving the humans to their fumbling and their demon-possession rumors. These were people, her family. They did not sing her praises but they asked her questions, murmuring elven phrases and prayers to the Creators, thanking them for such a gift.

A gift.

It was the first time her thinking had been understood and encouraged. There were those who had approved simply because she was taking power for herself but that wasn’t the point.

Rana, Maren, Theron, and Dhavon…they knew precisely why she had done what she had done. And they whole-heartedly approved.

Miriel was laughing with them when Solas approached.

“Miriel, may I have a word?” He asked, his voice apologetic. She turned, Venna still securely in her arms. Her face was flushed with the heat and happiness, but she smiled, placing her darling niece in Theron’s arms.

“I will speak with you later,” she bid her people farewell and stepped aside to speak with Solas.

“What will you do with the power of the Well once Corypheus is dead?” He asked. She pursed her lips, frustrated that this is where he wished to begin the conversation.

She sighed, “The war proved that we can’t go back to the way things were. I’ll try to help this world move forward. Help our people move forward.” She wasn’t going to use her power exclusively for elves, the mages still needed assistance integrating into the rest of Thedas. There were Templars still addicted to lyrium, and Orlais was…a big fucking mess, really.

“You would risk everything you have in the hope that the future is better? What if it isn’t? What if you wake up to find that the future you shaped is worse than what was?” He asked.

_He asks as if to prove something to himself. Selfish arse._ Determination groused.

“I’ll take a breath, see where things went wrong, and then try again.”

_That is very wise of you, da’len._

Solas suddenly paused and his expression shifted from frustration to curiosity and shock.

“Just like that?”

She smiled, “If we don’t keep trying, we’ll never get it right.” She reached out to him then, her unmarked hand taking his. She wanted him to know that they were in this together and that such a future included him in it…beside her. He would give her council and they could do so much good in this world.

He looked at her long and hard before his face softened and he reached up, a finger tracing one of the lines of her Vallaslin. She smiled, the ache in her heart slowly giving way to warmth as she turned her head and kissed his hand.

“You’re right. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You have not been what I expected, Inquisitor. You have… impressed me. You have offered hope that if one keeps trying, even if the consequences are grave… that someday, things will be better.” He said brightly. It was a bit of a sudden jump from his previous sour mood, but his face…he was so happy in that moment. She reached up and pulled his face down to hers. He pressed his lips to hers, and she sighed.

“Forgive my melancholy. Corypheus has cost us much. The Temple of Mythal did not deserve such a fate. The orb he carries, and its stolen power… that, at least, we may still recover. With luck, some of the past may yet survive.” He apologized but she already knew, she always understood. He was just a man, after all, given to moods and emotions that can be overwhelming. She stepped even closer to him, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“You’re being grim and fatalistic in hope of getting me into bed, aren’t you?” She grinned wickedly at him and aha! A slight blush colored his cheeks.

“I _am_ grim and fatalistic. Getting you into bed is just an enjoyable side benefit.” He teased and she stepped back, mouth agape.

“’Side benefit’? Oh, is that all?” She arched her brow and then her expression turned wicked as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. She told him all the wicked things she wanted to do to him, or have him do to her, nipping at his earlobe before she lowered herself.

Her eyes flicked up to his. His face was flushed, lips parts, and his eyes flashes before he nodded and gestured silently to their quarters.

Like a couple of teenagers, they hurried up to their room, falling on top of each onto the bed, stripping their clothes off.

Hours later, they were naked, curled up under the blankets. It was now dark with only the moonlight filtering in through the windows.

Solas traced a finger down her cheek, almost following the curve of her Vallaslin.

“I…wish to tell you something,” he whispered.

“Hmm?” She hummed, sleep much closer than she had originally thought.

“I… could we meet in the Fade? I think it will be easier there,” he suggested and she nodded, letting her body relax into the bed.

“Mmm, sounds good,” she grumbled. Sleep quickly overtook her and she dreamed.

**

Revasala was wrong.

Miriel was not a distraction or a hindrance. She was important and so incredibly bright. In his long, long life he had never met someone who worked so hard to understand and to help as she did. Who inspired such hope.

And then she had taken from the Well. He felt the power rolling off of her, an explosion waiting to happen. She was bedridden for days and he had feared he had lost her forever. That fear had swelled up, a wave waiting to break and when it did…he took his emotion out on her. It had been wrong and he regretted it. Void take him, he regretted so many things when it came to her. But he could not bring himself to regret her. Because despite every logical reason, Solas loved her.

When he railed at her for drinking from the Well, she had taken his anger with grace. She had reached out and calmed him, saying all of the right things. At first it had just infuriated him – the Well held knowledge, including knowledge about himself. He thought her words were just predicted responses created by the Well so as to not alienate him from her. But then he had seen her eyes…

She was still Miriel. Her ears would twitch and she would blink and twitch every now and then, but it was her. When they had kissed and made love, he knew that the Well, no matter how strong, could not overcome her. Her spirit was strong and blindingly beautiful.

That was when he knew Revasala was wrong.

Miriel deserved to know the truth about it all, about him. He loved her, he had never lied about that. And he had taken care to lie as little as possible, especially whenever it came to her.

He had worried previously that she would hate him or not listen to him if he revealed his identity and purpose. But now…there was always hope. She had given him hope that all of this, everything that he had been through and everything that he had done, that even in all of this darkness, there was still hope.

He would forever be grateful.

So Solas decided to tell her and to hope that she could see the truth in his words, and that everything that he did, everything he had been and was, was for the right reasons.

He arrived in the Fade and quickly found her, kissing her soundly in greeting, barely able to keep his excitement to himself. She giggled at him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

“I’ve seen you in the Fade, ma’lath,” she purred, pulling him down to nip at his ear. He shivered then kissed her cheek.

“That is not what I meant.” And then he waved his hand and they were transported to Ghilain’nan’s grove located in what was now known as Crestwood. He reached down and took her hand, leading her towards the center.

She leaned into him, staggering their steps, but he did not mind. She was here and she would know soon enough about…everything. About how he had become Fen’Harel, about how he thought he had no other choice, but now…now he knew better, and that with her he could be better. There was hope.

“Why here?” She asked, eyeing where they had once fought a wyvern.

“The Veil is thin here. Can you feel it on your skin, tingling?” He asked, lingering a moment on the last word.  Miriel looked up at him with loving bedroom eyes. His free hand reached up, cupping her cheek. She turned into him, giving his hand a soft kiss.

“I was trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me.” He said softly.

“I’m listening, and I can offer a few suggestions,” she bit her lip as her mouth curved into a smirk. He chuckled at her devious look, loving her unabashed adoration for the physical aspects of their relationships.

He took a deep breath and his stomach began to knot. This was it. He was going to tell her everything, like she deserved to know from the very beginning when he had returned her kiss in the fade all those months ago.

He looked down at her face and steeled himself.

“I shall bear that in mind. For now, the best gift I can offer is… the truth.”

Solas’s eyes softened and he moved so that he was looking her directly in the eye, “You are unique. In all Thedas, I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade. You have become important to me, more important than I could have imagined.”

“As you are to me,” she replied breathlessly.

_I am the Dread Wolf, Fen’Harel._

_No, I am not like those stories. Please, vhenan, listen to me, everything I did, I did for the People. Our people!_

_I love you, please listen. I trust you, that is why I am telling you this. I have, had, this plan and I don’t think it is the only option any more. Vhenan, you have made me hope for a different future, a_ better _future!_

_But the Veil needs to come down. I do know that, there are over five hundred people in Uthenera counting on me –_

_Bringing the Veil down will bring chaos yes, but we can help transition the world –_

_I sealed away the gods, yes._

_They were evil, ma vhenan. They weren’t even actual gods! Miriel, please, no, of course I respect you._

_Miriel –_

“Then what I must tell you…the truth….”

The words on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be spoken, to free him of the rouse he had been donning. He wanted her to know.

_She will die._

_There are five-hundred-sixty-seven people depending on you to bring down the Veil. To live._

She…she would not understand that necessity and the resulting chaos. His heart twisted in his chest.

_Vhenan, I am so sorry._

**

“Your face. The Vallaslin. In my journeys in the Fade, I have seen things. I have discovered what those marks mean.” He said after a long pause. She looked at him quizzically and shrugged.

“They honor the elven gods.” Everyone knew that, her face was a dedication to the old ways, as much of an honor to Andruil and defiance to the humans who would see her people subjugated.

“No. They are slave markings, or at least, they were in the time of ancient Arlathan.” She flinched away from him and his words. That…that could not be right. He took her hand and pulled gently back to him.

“Keeper Deshanna said they honored the gods. These are their symbols.” She said dazedly. This…this wasn’t –

“Yes, that’s right. A noble would mark his slaves to honor the god he worshipped. After Arlathan fell, the Dalish forgot.” His voice was soft, as if he were talking to a child.

“So this is… what? Just one more thing the Dalish got wrong?”

“I’m sorry.” He caressed her face and she bit back anger, indignation…tears.

“We try to preserve our culture, and this is what we keep? Relics of a time when we were no better than Tevinter?” She wanted to scream, to rant, to…do something other than wallow in anger and pity. Why was he telling her this? Why was he tearing down yet another piece of her culture?

“Don’t say that. For all they got wrong, the Dalish did one thing right. They made you. I didn’t tell you this to hurt you. If you like, I know a spell… I can remove the Vallaslin.” She touched her face, absently tracing the lines she had become so familiar with for the past seven years.

“These marks have been part of me for so long. I don’t know if…” she trailed off. Removing the Vallaslin…it was not a small thing that he offered. It would be akin to renouncing her heritage, he knew this, and yet the pain of the past… she could feel it in her head, seeing images of branded, crying slaves bearing the Vallaslin of Falon’din, Elgar’nan…Andruil.

“I’m so sorry for causing you pain. It was selfish of me. I look at you, and I see what you truly are… and you deserve better than what those cruel marks represent.” Her heart ached in her chest and it felt like her face burned.

_I am…branded as a slave?_

_Since we are not in Arlathan, you are technically not a slave._

_But the tradition…_

_He is correct – they were used as slave markings._ Determination told her.

“Then…cast your spell. Take the Vallaslin away.” She told him, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. Her face was flushed and she felt as if she were betraying her people, denying her Dalish heritage but…this was embracing her elven nature, right?

“Sit,” his smile was kind and understanding as he led her to a log to sit. She looked into his eyes once more, seeking guidance and reassurance that this was the right thing to do.

Steady grey-blue eyes looked back at her and she took a deep breath. She could do this. She was doing this.

Solas’s hands glowed brightly, blue light moving in elegant streams around his hands as he brought them up to her face. It felt like cool, slow moving water passing over her skin – lifting dirt and grime from her face. An overwhelming sensation of cleanliness washed over her and she took a deep breath as the magic dissipated.

She was bare-faced.

Solas’s fingers ghosted down over the shaved sides of her head then easing away, directing the left over magical energies away from her. When she opened her eyes, he was smiling in awe at her.

“Ar lasa mala revas. You are free.” They stood up, her legs a bit shaky. He said she was free, but was she ever bound to begin with? Moreover, the Well was still with her, she was still bound to Mythal’s will, supposedly, and that had not changed simply because of a tattoo removal.

She reached up, touching her face, tracing the now absent lines of Andruil’s bow.

“It…feels odd,” she murmured.

“I can imagine after wearing it for so long, being without it must feel strange.”

“It’s like I’m naked,” she said, still tracing. He chuckled.

“I assure you that you are not naked,” he said.

She smiled, dipping her head in…embarrassment? No… but perhaps in uncertainty. He was seeing her bare-faced but as a woman, and she was not quite sure what to make of that.

He must have sensed the unease within her, because his hand was gently cupping her face, and he was looking into her eyes with love.

“You are so beautiful,” he told her. She blushed but didn’t look away. She would get used to this.

He leaned into her and she into him. They pressed close, their lips meeting in a passionate kiss. His hand moved decisively to her rear end, cupping her bottom. She smiled into his mouth, her hands clutching at his tunic.

When Solas pulled away, she thought it was to get air and quickly return. She leaned in to chase him but stopped when she saw his wide eyes and the slight tremble to his lips. But his brows drew together briefly before his face went blank – a shield that she had not seen used with her in months.

“And I am sorry. I distracted you from your duty. It will never happen again.” It was like stepping back in time, when the snow in Haven bit at her toes and the wind rustled her hair. He was a professional sounding stone wall, devoid of his passion and love.

Her own eyes widened and her heart leapt up into her throat. What…this…what was he doing? Her hands followed him as he began to step away. No, no, _no._

“Solas…” she didn’t understand, what was he doing? Was this some sort of elaborate prank? Had her sister set her up? Perhaps this is a nightmare. They’re in the fade right? This…this wasn’t real. He wasn’t really doing this.

Solas’s arms went limp and he stepped just barely out of her embrace.

“Please, vhenan.” He said, his voice pleading and affectionate all the while he removed himself from her.

“I…I don’t understand,” she followed him as he stepped away, her feet moving almost independently as she tried to understand.

“I…I love you and you love me. You just called me ‘vhenan,’” she continued and he shook his head, his blank expression finally breaking into a pained frown.

“You have a rare and marvelous spirit. In another world –

“Why not this one?” She insisted. For the first time in days, her head was quiet, almost empty. It seemed that the priests wished nothing to do with romantic strife.

Fine, she was alone in figuring this out.

Solas flinched away from her.

“I can’t,” he told her. _Why? Why are you doing this?_ She wanted to scream.

“I’m sorry,” he held up his hands as his voice broke and she finally realized it.

Solas was ending it, ending _them_. Her eyes widened and she stumbled back, a noise of horrified surprise bubbling from her throat. She covered her mouth one hand, and wrapped the other arm around herself.

They were joking about weddings just over a week ago. He had been amenable about talking about them having children together. Her sisters loved him. _Miriel_ loved him! And he was…leaving her.

“No,” she choked out as he turned from her.

“Solas, _no_ ,” she cried. He continued to walk away.

_This…isn’t real. None of this is real. It is just a dream. Wake up. Wake up! He is sleeping right beside you and when you wake up crying he will wrap his arms around you and tell you he loves you and he isn’t going anywhere. Wake up! Wake up!_

Miriel’s eyes snapped open, her face wet with tears shed in her sleep. She sat up in bed and looked over to Solas’s side of the bed to see…nothing. That side of the bed was made, the only thing to indicate someone had been there was the slight indent on the pillow but the rest….

She quickly moved out of the bed, naked and uncaring. She opened the armoire, looking to find his coats. Only her own were inside. She looked at the tables, finding all of his books had been removed.

His shaving bag was gone from the laboratory.

His three sketchbooks, two of them full, no longer occupied his night stand.

Foot wraps, his detailed notes, even the breeches she said she would patch up for him…it was all gone.

It hadn’t been just a dream. It had been real.

Miriel collapsed to the floor, holding herself as silent sobs wracked her body.

**

He had left her room quickly, using magic to bring his things with him. He made sure to make everything look untouched by him.

_Rip off the bandage, a quick, clean break is best for everyone._ He could hear Revasala’s voice in his head, telling him what to do and he…he knew that this was the best option.

So Solas moved quickly, disentangling his life from hers. Most of his things fit well enough in the rotunda, and if something didn’t fit he had an agent take it to the sanctuary. The time was approaching quickly, having items there was not a bad idea.

He placed his things just as quickly in the rotunda, then left, making haste to passage to the hidden eluvian.

He stepped through, navigating his way to the large chamber. Solas gazed at his people, all tied into Uthenera – stuck in their eternal sleep unless he found a way to rend the Veil asunder. He strode between the pods, looking into the faces of his people. Each and every one of them deserved to live. He had to remind himself that this was worth it, that leaving her like this, leaving her at all, was worth it.

“You did the right thing,” Revasala said, joining him.

“That does not lessen the pain.”

“This will be better for her in the long run –

“Do not speak as if you know her. I love her, and I destroyed her heart tonight. I broke the woman I love’s heart.” Tears threatened him once more. He turned from Revasala, his shoulders hunching.

She placed her hand on his shoulder.

“You chose your people tonight. You did this because of love, love for them. That is not a bad thing, Fen’Harel.” She emphasized his moniker and a familiar weight settled over him.

He had chosen Fen’Harel that night, and had left Solas’s heart broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry! Man, so many of you were "NO! Don't let him break her heart" and here I was sitting on this chapter like "oooops". Sorry guys. 
> 
> So this is up early because I am going out of town for the weekend and will not have access to wifi. Next week's update also stands a good chance of being updated at a weird time too. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please comment, leave kudos, etc. Love you guys!


	44. Aftershocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The resulting fallout from Solas's decision. SFW. WARNING: child abuse

Maren woke up in her apprentice quarters as she always did - with Ileth shaking her shoulder until she grunted, mouth opening in a large yawn as she stretched.

“Mmpf,” she groaned, turning her head back into the pillow.

“We’re going to be late!” He whispered, worried as always.

“Sleep,” Maren groaned, wanting to fall back into her dreams to the only teacher who had remained with her through everything. Two more instructors had thrown their hands up in trying to teach her already, claiming her too willful and vexing to try to teach. Whatever. It didn’t matter, she had Widdy and she had Solas, even if his input was sporadic at best.

“Enchanter Praxa is going to be so mad!” Ileth continued to babble, however, making sleep more and more elusive. She groaned unhappily, but finally eased Ileth’s concerns and rolled out of bed.

“Totally pointless, you know. They’re just going to yell at us,” she grumbled, shucking off her sleeping shift to dress in the apprentice robes they had given her. They were too long in the arms and torso, and Rana was busy with the new baby so no one had the time to hem up her robes. She looked at Ileth’s now raggedy, plucked at robe and sighed. At least she had a too busy sister, Ileth had no one to look after him and his little brother.

She made a mental note to learn how to sew.

She grabbed her practice staff and followed Ileth out of the small apprentice quarters and to the training grounds. Enchanter Praxa was there, glaring at them for being later than the others as usual.

“I expected more from you, Ileth,” he admonished. Maren scowled, the enchanter knew damn well that it was Maren’s fault and not the younger elf’s. Her eyes narrowed and she stepped forward.

“It was my fault, don’t take it out him,” she said, staring at the enchanter.

“He decided to spend the time waking you, didn’t he?”

“You are clearly unfamiliar with the Dalish, Enchanter Praxa. If you were familiar, you would understand that we actually look after our own instead of sacrificing them to the wolves,” Maren shot back. A hush fell over the training field and she knew that everyone was waiting for the verbal thrashing Maren was certain to get…again.

Praxa raised an eyebrow and stood taller, hands behind his back. “You continue to be a disappointment, Maren Lavellan. Such a shame you couldn’t be more like your diplomatic sister.” The words stung, but she gave no indication that it hurt. She could take this. She was Maren Lavellan, her mother had been a strong woman who had fled Antiva City. Her father had been a mighty hunter. By the Creators, her sister was the _Inquisitor_.

Praxa leaned forward, bending smoothly as he invaded her space.

“You should be grateful that the Templars have been disbanded, little girl, or you would have been broken by now.” Praxa whispered into her ear. She sneered as she jerked away.

“The shemlen have tried to break us for centuries, and we survive. Your bitch soldiers do not scare me, _shem_.” The slap across her face was quick and stinging. Her hand flew to her face as her eyes went up to the enchanter. But she would not be cowed.

“You hit when words fail you. I am more like my sister than you know,” she hissed, straightening herself again, daring him to hit her. His fist clenched but he smiled.

“And you do not lash out? Good, you will be hard prey for the demons,” Maren’s brows drew together in confusion. Was that…did he just…compliment her?

Praxa laughed and took a step back, “You shall make a marvelous mage, a lackluster student, perhaps, but a fantastic mage. And if you think your biting words will push me away as your instructor, think again. Barriers up! We are running exercises!”

Maren did not immediately raise her staff, instead she continued to eye the enchanter with rampant confusion. He hit her. Slapped her cleanly across the face and had praised her the next second for being insolent?

Enough was enough! These shemlen were bizarre and backwards in their teachings. She had learned more in a single night with Widdy and his various spirit friends than she had in the months she had been at Skyhold. The only exception was when Solas was in charge of her tuition.

Not even really thinking, Maren left the training field.

“Maren! You are not allowed to leave!” Ileth cried.

“Maren! Get back here!” Praxa yelled.

She ignored both of them.

She walked dazed to Miriel’s quarters, hoping that maybe with the approaching destruction of Corypheus that Solas could be spared to teach her. _Please,_ please _, let that be the case._

Maren reached the top of the stairs to find Rana holding Miriel on the sofa by the stairs. Miriel’s head was turned into Rana’s swollen bosom, hands gripping the elder sister’s arms.

“What’s going on?” Maren asked. Rana turned to face her, rage and betrayal evident on her face. The world seemed to slow and tilt on its access as Rana explained what had happened to their sister, what Solas had done.

Maren stumbled back, confused. This…wasn’t right. No, Solas and Miriel were in love and they were getting married. Maren was going to have another mage in the family, she wasn’t going to be alone anymore.

Her breathing came shallowly and she shook her head, refusing to believe it. But then Miriel lifted her head and Maren saw the truth of it all over her sister’s face.

“He can’t do this,” Maren growled before gripping her staff in a death grip and flying down the stairs. She heard a loud scramble behind her, but she didn’t care.

How dare he do this? How could he hurt Miriel like this? How could he just leave her? How could he just leave and not even explain why? How could he just leave _her_?

Tears slipped down Maren’s face and she wiped them angrily from her face. No, no crying, she was strong. Her mother was strong. Her father was mighty.

She burst into the rotunda with a great cry.

“HOW COULD YOU?!” She screamed, sparks flying from her fingers at her emotion. Solas turned from painting, eyes wide in surprise at Maren’s outburst.

“Maren, if you calm –

“CALM? You _left_! You’re _leaving_! How could you do that? How can you do this?” She screamed, power and emotion rolling within her.

Solas held up his hands and approached her slowly, “Maren, you need to calm yourself. This is dangerous.”

“NO! I don’t have to listen to you! YOU LEFT!”

“Maren! I am right here!” He was closer to her, trying to touch her but she just flinched away, tears beginning to slip down her still reddened face.

“NO YOU’RE NOT! How can I learn from someone when you have _hurt my sister?!_ ” She felt everything in a flash. The rage, the indignation, lightning charging the air. Her hand instinctively grabbed hold of a wave of energy, gasping at the charge there. She inhaled quickly and then let go, letting the bolt fly wildly at Solas.

He caught it in a directed barrier, letting it dissipate with an anticlimactic fizzle.

The tears were coming freely now and her entire body felt tired. Another one gone. And it wasn’t even her fault. The only one to say he would stay was Praxa, and the idea of returning to him….

Maren fell to the floor, sobbing as she felt defeat coil within her, mixing with the heartbreak she knew Miriel must be feeling. She curled in on herself, holding her sides, hoping maybe that she wouldn’t fly apart if she just held on tight enough.

She absently noticed Solas rushing to her, only to be stopped by Theron.

“Don’t touch her. She is my sister, not yours,” Theron growled. And then arms were wrapping around her form, lifting her from the ground. Instinctively, Maren wrapped her arms around her brother-in-law, burying her face into his chest as she continued to sob. She didn’t know where he carried her, only that he carried her for some time until she was in a dark room with only her family with her, stroking her hair and whispering words of encouragement.

After a while she fell asleep, slowly slipping into the Fade where Widdy held her and surrounded her with books and love.

“Strength is not born out of an easy life,” he whispered, letting warm tendrils of affectionate magic wrap around her.

“I do not want to need to be strong,” she murmured, turning away from him.

When Maren awoke, the new room was dark and her head was in Miriel’s lap.

“Are you feeling better? Katra cast a soothing spell to help you sleep,” Miriel said. Maren didn’t respond, just moved her head to look away from her sister.

“There is someone I want you to meet,” Miriel continued, thankfully not sounding upset at Maren’s dismissal. _What is wrong with me? I’m not mad at her._

“Who?” Maren finally whispered. A few candles were suddenly lit, allowing Maren to see movement in the corners where a beautiful woman with dark skin in shimmering robes appeared.

“This is former First Enchanter Madame Vivienne De Fer, former court enchantress to the imperial court of Orlais,” Miriel introduced. Vivienne smiled politely and dipped her head in greeting.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Maren.” The woman said. Maren frowned and couldn’t help but recoil. Wonderful, another shemlen mage come to strip away her offensive Dalish nature, to scorn the blood writing, to tell her that her accent was improper when casting spells.

“I am sure you are lying. All of the other enchanters hated me on the spot,” Maren grumbled. Miriel was about to intervene when Vivienne held her hand up.

“My dear, those peons do not know what to do with true power when they see it. Never mistake jealousy for hatred, that will be your first lesson.” _First lesson?_ Maren sat up and looked at the Madame quizzically.

“What are you saying?”

“Praxa is a horrible man who is unfit to teach anyone, least of all with someone of actual substance. I will be taking over your magical instruction and any other instruction that I see fit.”

“Why would such a high ranking person take such an interest in me?” None of this made sense, what was this? Miriel pulling more strings that would eventually run thin and break? No, this wasn’t a good idea.

“It has been awhile since I have taken on an apprentice and I find myself desiring the company once more. Your sister is a dear friend and from what the other enchanters say, no one knows what to make of you – but I do. You are a mage, Maren, already coming into your power and that power shocks people. You need someone who knows what to do with that power and how to more than simply manage it, but channel it correctly. That person is me,” Vivienne explained taking a seat next to Maren.

She continued to scowl at the enchantress, unwilling to uncoil for some time. But the polite smile did not leave and Miriel continued to sit by Maren, stroking her hair.

It was very quiet.

…

The woman wasn’t leaving and she wasn’t flinching away from Maren when the girl began to let her magic slowly unfurl around her in a more relaxed way. In fact, the corners of Vivienne’s lips twitched ever so slightly upward as she felt the charge in the air.

…

Fine. If the woman wished to be Maren’s instructor, better she knew what Maren came with.

“I talk to spirits. My best friend is a spirit of Wisdom that I call Widdy. He has been with me for many years and I intend to continue talking with him. And other spirits as I see fit. I am Dalish and will continue to worship my gods as I see fit, this may include me wearing Vallaslin when I am of age.” She declared, staring into Vivienne’s eyes, daring the woman to say ‘no’ to any of these things.

But she just smiled, “Normally I would not condone such open fraternization with spirits, but…under these circumstances, I believe a compromise can be achieved. As for your gods and Vallaslin, I have no issue with this. I do not expect you to abandon your beliefs, only that you will learn as you best can from what I have to teach. And I have much to teach, Maren, this is not an opportunity you wish to miss,” Vivienne then rose from her seat, smoothing out her opalescent robes.

“I will leave you, there are things I must attend to and I suspect you will need time to make your decision.” Vivienne left the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

Maren turned to Miriel, who was smiling sadly…but her face…it was all wrong.

“I am surprised you still wish to receive the blood writing when you know what they mean.” Her sister’s voice was soft, dejected and Maren felt nauseous. But she reigned herself in and touched Miriel’s face tentatively.

“I don’t know. The old elves saw them as slave markings, but I always saw them as proud marks of adulthood and a celebration of our gods. Forsaking that seems… wrong somehow,” Maren murmured, leaning into her sister. Miriel wrapped her arm around Maren.

“I understand. I struggled with the decision…and perhaps I have bit of buyer’s remorse,” Miriel confessed.

“Of the man or the tattoo removal?” Maren asked dryly. Miriel sighed and then there was a soft knock on the door. It creaked open and a concerned Ileth poked his head inside.

“Can I see Maren?” He asked softly. Miriel looked down at Maren and the girl nodded her head. Ileth entered the room as Miriel stood.

“I have some things to attend to, if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to send someone to find me, alright?” Miriel said and Maren nodded. She felt the pressure begin to ease in her and soon she was pulled into a retelling of the great story of how Madame De Fer was going to be her new instructor.

Maren wondered if she could convince Vivienne to bring Ileth with them.

**

Anger whipped around inside of Miriel like a hurricane. She strode briskly to the rotunda, incensed at the pain Solas had ended up causing her little sister.

_How dare he!_

It was one thing to hurt her, but another entirely to hurt her sister.

So she stormed into the rotunda, bare face full of rage.

Solas looked up from his desk, surprised, “M- Inquisitor, how is your sister doing?”

“Do not talk to me about her, she is not of your concern.” Miriel bit out. Hurt flashed across his face briefly before he nodded.

“Forgive my intrusion, Inquisitor,” he said, returning to his books. _Fuck no._

She crossed her arms, “I would like to discuss what happened before, Solas.”

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t be appropriate at this time. We must focus on what truly matters.” As if this didn’t matter? That their…relationship hadn’t mattered? Rage burned hotter within her and her fists clenched in response.

“Harden your heart to a cutting edge, and put that pain to good use against Corypheus.” He advised, his voice infuriatingly neutral. She stalked towards his desk and he straightened, taking a step back. Her lips pursed and eyes narrowed.

“It would help me if you could explain why.” She ground out.

“The answers would only lead to more questions, an emotional entanglement that would benefit neither of us.”

_Emotional entanglement._ Was that all she was to him? All she would ever be? Was that how he viewed it?

“Those weren’t your thoughts when your face was between my legs,” she said before he could say anything else. He tensed briefly, his eyes flashed with heat before he could help himself.

He blinked and the moment was gone, “The blame is mine, not yours. It was irresponsible and selfish of me. Let that be enough.” He was practically pleading, his eyes downcast, dark circles showing his exhaustion.

“How will that _ever_ be enough? We were talking of marriage, children – and you have the audacity to think that this bullshit explanation will _ever_ be enough?! Do you think so little of me that you do not even care to tell me why?”

“Inquisitor, that is –

“Tell me, Solas! Tell me the reason or…or tell me you don’t care about me or this! That this was just some farce, some sick game of yours to get me into bed. Tell me you don’t care!” She practically screamed, uncaring of who heard her.

“I can’t,” he looked so fucking heartbroken. _No! I am the one who is hurt!_ She thought, but as she looked at him she saw her own hurt and heartbreak reflected at her. And dammit, it _hurt_.

Not thinking, she lunged forward, hands cupped his face to bring his lips to hers in a desperate kiss. His hands seized around arms and yanked her away.

“Inquisitor, this is inappropriate,” but his voice wavered and tears began to slip down her face as her blind rage was replaced with intense sorrow. She fell against him, unable to stop herself, burying her face into a tunic that she had worn to bed only three days prior.

“Please,” her voice was so small, cracking even in its whisper, “I love you. You are my heart. Ma vhenan.” She liked to think that he hesitated pushing her away, that there was that small second where he considered wrapping his arms around her, telling her he was sorry, that he was wrong. But he didn’t hold her, and he didn’t tell her that he loved her. He pulled her away, separating himself from her as he took a few steps back, holding his hands up.

“You really don’t let anybody see under that polite mask you wear, do you?” She accused, almost laughing. Her emotions whipping through her like a storm.

“You saw more than most. Let me know if I can be of any more help in planning our final fight.” It was another dismissal and it stung all over. She bit her lip, trying to prevent herself from crying. She laughed instead.

“I don’t know why I even tried to talk with you.”

“Because you are hurt. Because I made a selfish mistake. Because you deserve better. Pick any reason.” The acknowledgement of her pain was a surprise, one that simply drove the knife deeper into her heart.

Miriel turned from Solas, having enough emotional flagellation for the day, when she stopped short.

“Maren is fine. Her instructor slapped her this morning, that is why she sought me out, and then she found out about this. I have arranged for Vivienne to be her instructor; I think it will work well.” And with that, Miriel left, unable to stand one more moment in the rotunda.

**

Miriel buried herself in work for the rest of the day, doing a wonderfully noble job of pretending not to notice the pitying looks and glances. Cullen, Leliana, Josephine, random people in the halls…they were all looking at her and the obvious fall out between her and Solas.

Maren’s outburst was now legendary with wild embellishment that Varric swore he had no hand in perpetuating. She believed him oddly enough. Maren was a child, Varric wouldn’t do that to her. She had already ordered for Praxa to be fined, charged, and to be separated from any and all children, particularly in any instructional setting.

Perhaps she could behead him. She was in a sort of beheading mood.

It still felt unreal, like she was still asleep and would wake up any moment to find Solas asleep next to her, shirtless and nose twitching. But it never happened and as time rolled on, the more she realized that no, she was not asleep and this was all real.

Her bones felt exceptionally heavy by supper, which she opted to take in her room. She hauled her exhausted and emotionally drained body up the stairs to find Katra sitting on her bed with two bottles of wine in her hands.

“Men suck.” The woman said bluntly.

Miriel nodded and began to sniffle.

“I love him.”

A cork flew off the first bottle and Katra filled a glass, handing it to Miriel. Katra’s brows were drawn together in concern but she was pity free as Miriel sat on the bed and leaned against her.

And then Katra began to tell Miriel about how she had fallen in love with Fenris. About how she had pined from afar for years only to have him leave her naked and alone after spending one passionate night with her. How Katra had drunk herself into a horrible stupor for two days to awaken in the Blooming Rose tied to a bed covered in her own vomit.

She hadn’t gotten drunk for years after that.

Then her mother died and then the city burned and she was impaled.

And Fenris had come back to read with her and then he was helping her to recover with her walking. He was there and they didn’t talk about what happened, but she took what she could get because her heart refused to move on.

She loved him and she felt like he could love her too.

Three more years passed and then they killed Danarius and…then he asked to come back to her.

By the time the tale was done, they were already down half the bottle and nibbling on the delivered food. Miriel stared for a moment at Katra, vaguely disheartened.

“I do not want to wait for three years, pining for a man that I don’t even know was telling me the truth when he said he loved me –

“He loved you, damn fucking right he did. Probably still loves you, but has shit he thinks that keeps him from being able to love you like he thinks you deserve. All the while he doesn’t realize how much _you_ love him in return in that ‘my soul has merged with yours’ kind of way.” Katra interrupted, making to refill Miriel’s glass. But the elf held up her hand.

“I…I don’t want to get drunk, I think. I just…I’m already numb after yelling at him and I just…I…” She trailed off, not knowing what she wanted or needed.

Katra said nothing, only took Miriel’s glass and dish, setting everything to the side before wrapping her arms around Miriel. She pulled her into a soft embrace, tucking Miriel’s head under her chin and then began to hum, occasionally singing little comforting refrains. She made no demands of Miriel, asked her not to forgive Solas, not to be angry at him, but to feel as much as she could or wanted to.

Miriel closed her eyes and clutched her friend tightly as she felt reality begin to solidify even more.

Solas had ended the relationship with her. Her heart constricted from the pain and she found herself wincing every now and then as she wrapped herself around Katra’s soft body.

**

“You think you are doing her a service by leaving her. You are thinking that if you break her now, that will spare her a worse break later. Yet you question the necessity of it. Some part of you regrets leaving her already.”

Fenris’s low voice filled the rotunda and Solas leaned forward over his desk, trying desperately to not react. To hold himself together, his lips and body still burning from Miriel’s kiss.

“This is a private matter.” He said coldly, hoping the man will hear the not so subtle wish for him to leave.

“I see. Your screaming match with the Inquisitor and getting assaulted by her sister were private matters.” Fenris stepped more fully into the rotunda and Solas’s knuckles turned white gripping the edge of his desk.

“I understand the Champion and Inquisitor are close and that you and –

“You use her formal name to distance yourself from her. You use the formal name of her friend to make yourself cold, unfeeling. You forget that I did this to Hawke. I know what is going through your head.”

Solas barked out a strained laugh and shook his head at the assumption.

This man, as much as he had been through, knew _nothing_ of Solas’s dilemma. It was not _himself_ that kept him from Miriel, but the duty to a people he had promised freedom to thousands and thousands of years ago.

Did Fenris understand that? Could he comprehend the sheer amount Solas now owed to these people? That there were _children_ in their numbers? And every day they grew sicker and sicker.

Could he understand the necessity of the impending chaos?

Could he understand that he could not put the labels he has had to endure upon Miriel? The world only had one misunderstood Fen’Harel – it did not need another. He would not allow them to turn her into a villain bent on destroying the world. He will not allow them to flinch when her name is whispered in dark corners. Curses springing from her name.

He will spare her from that.

Anger and self-loathing overwhelmed him and he turned from Fenris.

“You do not understand everything. I…appreciate you attempting to assist her…but there is nothing to be done.” And with that, Solas left the rotunda, unwilling to endure any more words from Fenris, or from anyone for that matter.

He strode through Skyhold, feeling angry stares fall on his back. There were Antivan curses and he could have sworn he saw Dhavon lurking in the shadows, sharpening his sword. He walked to one of the newer buildings, about to enter when Theron emerged from the structure, holding his hand out.

“Whoa now. You’re not going in there.”

Solas frowned, “And precisely why?”

“My family is in there; a family you have decided to reject. You don’t get to confuse my children with your presence.”

Solas just nodded and walked off until he found a quiet place where no one saw him or spoke to or spat at him. He closed his eyes and leaned against a large tree, letting his spirit slowly drift into the fade.

He was alone.

**

Toreo Praxa sat down at his small table, about to eat his dinner as he reviewed the latest news report form Cumberland. Things were mostly well; it had been fortunate enough to not have too many demons roaming its streets. Corypheus had been focused on the Inquisition’s main position after all.

He was wiping his face clean when a shadow ran across the wall. He quirked a brow but thought nothing of it. He returned to his report only to have the shadow flash on the other wall.

“Whoever that is, stop, it is not amusing and you will not get a rise out of me,” he said dryly, believing one of his students to be trying to prank him. He sipped his tea and all of the lights went out.

“This is ridiculous – AH!” Praxa was suddenly thrown up against the wall, a clawed gauntlet snared around his throat. Fear shot through Praxa and he writhed against the phantom, trying to cast, only to have his magic suppressed.

“You ever touch another student again, and you die. Stay away from Maren Lavellan, or you will wish you had died,” a deep voice growled into his ear. The claws dug into his throat, squeezing his airway.

“Fine! I won’t! I promise!” Praxa wheezed.

The face leaned in close, breathing and snarling into Praxa’s ear.

“Good, because if I catch one rumor of you harming her or another student,” the threat hung the in the air. The creature was suddenly gone, the lights returning to normal as Praxa slid to the ground, clutching at his battered neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked the chapter. 
> 
> Please comment, leave kudos, etc.


	45. Atish'Asha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miriel meets her goddess. SFW

_Da’len, you need to go to the garden._ Patience whispered in Miriel’s head. She was currently in the kitchen, eating her feelings while she waited to be summoned to a meeting about something having to do with the Inquisition. She just hadn’t been expecting that summoning would come from her own head.

Groaning, Miriel stood and headed to the garden, still reeling from her encounter with Solas yesterday, and the night before that. She felt raw, dried out even though she had yet to truly cry. Katra thought she was the result of some weird marvel of elven evolution, while Rana waited in companionable silence for the tears to come.

Miriel herself was uncertain if she would cry. Perhaps she would just be pleasantly numb for the rest of her life. Bare-faced, confused, and refusing or unable to believe that Solas had left her like that. But if her sister was waiting patiently for the tears, Miriel supposed that it was only a matter of time.

No matter, she walked into the garden to find the door to the room containing the Eluvian wide open. Interesting.

She wandered over to see Leliana watching the Elvuian, going over it in a panic.

“Something wrong?” Miriel asked. Leliana turned, eyes wide with terror.

“Inquisitor! Thank the Maker you’re here! Morrigan chased after her son into the Eluvian. She was terrified.”

“She was _chasing_ Kieran?” Miriel asked and the Spymaster nodded.

“She said _he_ activated the mirror somehow, and then she ran into it. I’ve never seen Morrigan like that. You must go after her! I will find help, Inquisitor.” Before Miriel could respond, Leliana ran off in search of Fiona or anyone who could maybe help with this. Taking a deep breath, Miriel stepped into the Eluvian…

And into the Fade. She flinched at the all too familiar eerily green surroundings, rocks and stalactites jutting out at odd angles. She shivered until she heard Morrigan’s panicked voice. Right, Morrigan’s son was missing. Miriel took a deep breath and shook herself out of her reverie, chasing Morrigan down.

“Why would Kieran do this? _How_ could he do this?” Morrigan asked, distraught.

“We stand in the Fade. To direct the Eluvian here would require immense power. If he is lost to me, now after all I have sacrificed…”

“We’ll find him, Morrigan. He can’t be far.” Miriel said, trying to calm Morrigan down lest they attract any demons.

“The Fade is infinite. He could literally be anywhere.” And she continued to panic.

“Whatever happens to him now, ‘tis my doing. I set him on this path. Please help me look, Inquisitor. Just a little longer.” Miriel nodded and they set off, running through the Fade, hoping and looking for Kieran.

**

The woman stood before Miriel, tall, elegant…terrifying. Magic coursed through Miriel’s body but it was wholly unlike what she had experienced before with Solas or any other mage. There was no gentle prodding or suggestion as warmth flooded her body. No, this was…an overwhelming command to bind and hold Morrigan. This…this was Mythal. The Great All Mother. Goddess to the People, to Miriel’s people.

She was _blinding._

A chorus sang in Miriel’s head, all crying out in joy at spying their Goddess. Patience and Determination sighed in harmony and her head felt like it was to explode with longing and relief.

“Mythal? I…” Miriel could do nothing more than fall to her knees, her head too full, the power was too much, she couldn’t –

“It is an _honor_ to meet you,” she gasped finally.

“You see, girl? _Those_ are manners, as you require a demonstration.” Mythal turned from Miriel to Morrigan, her yellow gaze hard but humorful.

“I require nothing from you but your death!” Morrigan cried. Miriel _growled_ at her, her nails digging painfully into the rock beneath her. She was shocked with herself but the ire rises easily and uncontrollably.

“You tried that once already, and see how far it got you?” A dozen voices screamed at the atrocity Morrigan had apparently performed and a soft cry escaped Miriel. The pain and the outrage, most of it not hers…she clutched at her chest and lowered herself to the ground, trying to breathe.

Kieran ran to his mother and some distant part of Miriel’s mind that was still hers was glad. He should be with his mother, away from Mythal. She should not be around children.

_You blaspheme!_ Determination growled, drowning out whatever Kieran was saying.

_I think…the truth_ , even in her mind, Miriel was out of breath.

Mythal took a step forward, eying Miriel closely. Kieran returned to the woman’s side and Miriel tried to stand up, her body groaning under the immense effort.

“Once I was but a woman, crying out in the lonely darkness for justice. And she came to me, a wisp of an ancient being, and she granted me all I wanted and more. I have carried Mythal through the ages ever since, seeking the justice denied to her.” Yes, Miriel felt the ancient goddess within the witch standing before them. Pulsing and radiant and completely overwhelming.

“Mythal is within you,” Miriel stated, her own voice sounding almost foreign under the barrage of voices in her head.

“She is a part of me, no more separate than your heart from your chest. What do the voices tell you?” The witch’s eyes bore into Miriel and suddenly the voices were calm, organizing themselves once more into the neat little boxes Miriel had placed them in. She gasped at the reprieve and then asked the question.

Her eyes fluttered closed and Patience drifted to the surface of her mind.

_Behold the vessel of our goddess, Mythal._

“They say you speak the truth,” Miriel said.

“But what _was_ Mythal? A legend given name and called a God, or something more? Truth is not the end, but a beginning. So young and vibrant. You do the People proud and have come far.” High praise, the ultimate high praise from her Goddess. Gratitude flooded Miriel’s body and mind and she smiled, dipping her heading in respect.

“Ma serannas, Mythal,” she murmured in reverence.

“As for me, I have had many names. But you… may call me Flemeth.” With the voices firmly back in their assigned seats, Miriel felt a pain of deception and abandonment. She had been here the entire time… she knew who Flemeth was. She was known as Asha’bellanar among the Dalish and yet… she had done nothing.

“If Mythal is a part of you, why haven’t you helped us? We’ve called to you. _Prayed_ to you…” She asked softly. Determination growled again but Miriel ignored it.

“What was could not be changed.” That was a shitty excuse! The past was horrible, the insinuated murder of Mythal was horrible, it was all horrible – but she had stayed away, damning the future to be horrible simply because the past was horrible? What kind of inspiring goddess did that?

_How DARE you!_ Determination had apparently had enough of Miriel’s insubordination and pain lanced through the elf’s brain. She flinched but stood tall.

“What about now? You know so much…”

“You know not what you ask, child.” The witch warned and it seemed Miriel had stretched her approval too far. But Miriel did not care.

“Why did Mythal come to you?” She asked, stopping herself short of saying _Why not an elf? Why not your people? Have you truly abandoned us? Forsaken us?_

“For a reckoning that will shake the very heavens.” Flemeth intoned. And it told Miriel absolutely nothing.

“And you follow her whims? Do you even know what she truly is?” Morrigan said.

_She is a goddess, ungrateful bitch,_ Determination sneered inside Miriel’s head.

“You seek to preserve the powers that were, but to what end? It is because I taught you, girl. Because things happened that were never meant to happen. She was betrayed as I was betrayed – as the world was betrayed! Mythal clawed and crawled her way through the ages to me, and I will see her avenged!” Flemeth shouted. The rock beneath Miriel’s feet shook slightly as the woman’s voice reverberated through the Fade. A sickly desire for vengeance permeated the air and Miriel could not help but respond to it, her hands itching for her daggers or her bow.

“Alas, so long as the music plays, we dance.” And as quickly as anger and violence filled the air…melancholy and nostalgia replaced it. A sorrowful resignation tainted with immeasurable age and exhaustion.

“So…must I serve you now because I drank from the Well?” When she had drunk, she had not realized that Mythal lived quite so…literally. She believed Mythal existed, of course, but she had never in her wildest dreams expected to actually encounter her and be beholden to her will.

Flemeth laughed, “Is that how you see yourself? A servant? I have no commands for you. Not yet.” Which was more of what Miriel was afraid.

_There is nothing to be done about it now,_ Patience reminded her calmly.

“Then what is it you want?” Morrigan demanded.

“One thing, and one thing only.” Flemeth said, looking down at the boy. Kieran’s face drew into a sad, apologetic expression and Miriel’s heart clenched. _No._

“I have to go now, Mother.” He said softly. There was a sudden intake of breath and then Morrigan was straightening her back, the air beginning to sizzle around her with magic.

“No. I will not allow it.” She sneered.

“He carries a piece of what once was, snatched from the jaws of darkness. You know this.” The witch explained.

“He is not your pawn, Mother. I will not let you use him!”

“Have _you not used him? Was that not your purpose, the reason you agreed to his creation?_ ”

“That was then. Now he…he is my _son._ ” Morrigan all about cried. Flemeth’s hard gaze softened for a moment before turning back to Miriel.

“Flemeth extends her life by possessing the bodies of her daughters, Inquisitor.” Morrigan explained dejectedly. Miriel’s eyes widened but she wasn’t too terribly surprised – Mythal was not beholden to the age of time but modern bodies were, new vessels had to be found, what better way to find a suitable one than by raising it yourself?

Still, it was…sick and twisted.

“That was the fate she intended for me. I thwarted her, and now she intends to have Kieran instead!” At this, Miriel was skeptical. Why possess Kieran now? When he was so young and really not that powerful? And why suddenly possess a boy?

“Wait, the way she talked about Kieran…”

“I am not the only one carrying the soul of a being long thought lost.” Oh. Oh dear. Miriel examined Kieran, trying to discern who Kieran may be carrying. Perhaps one of the Old Tevinter Gods? He was born surprisingly close to the end of the Blight.

“He is more than that, Mother.” Morrigan pleaded.

“As am I, yet do you hear me complain? Our destinies are not so easily avoided, dear girl.” Flemeth apparently did not like being direct…in anything.

“Mother, I have to.” Kieran said and Miriel’s heart ached. He was nine, he shouldn’t have to do anything!

“You do not belong to her, Kieran. Neither of us do!”

“If Kieran is so special, why did you wait until now to come for him?” Miriel asked.

“I did not know where he was. Morrigan cleverly hid him from me…until now.”

Morrigan gasped, “’Twas the Well,” she whispered, horrified.

“Be thankful _you_ did not drink. Imagine, bound to your dear mother for eternity!” Flemeth laughed heartily and the Fade vibrated with her once more. But it still made little sense to Miriel – why take Kieran’s body?

“You’re… going to steal the body of a young boy?” She asked. Flemeth cocked her head to the side.

“If my daughter believes it, then it must be so.” Which was really not a confirmation – Morrigan had been wrong in her beliefs before… what was Flemeth really planning?

Morrigan fell to her knees in pleading, “Kieran, I…”

Kieran, wide eyed and frowning, looked at his mother with eyes that were far too old to be in the head of a nine-year-old. He turned to Flemeth, beseeching.

“As you wish. Hear my proposal, dear girl. Let me take the lad, and you are free of me forever. I will never interfere with or harm you again. Or, keep the lad with you… and you will never be safe from me. I will have my due.”

_Our goddess is a cunning one,_ Determination sighed.

_Cunning and tricky, but not a liar. The girl should let her have the boy,_ Patience agreed.

_What does she want with him?_ Miriel asked.

_That… we cannot be certain._ Patience wavered.

_She wants revenge, that is clear – against those who killed her?_

_Everyone._

Well, that wasn’t particularly helpful. She may have the power of the Well but she could not command it.

“He returns with me.” Morrigan said instantaneously.

_Fool,_ Determination derided.

“Decided so quickly?” Flemeth asked without any hint of anger.

“Do whatever you wish. Take over my body now, if you must, but Kieran will be free of your clutches. I am many things, but I will not be the mother you were to me.” Morrigan said, pain and passion clear in her voice.

Flemeth’s face fell in sadness after a moment and Miriel felt remorse in the back of her head. The emotion did not belong to her and her heart ached. This…this was Mythal, even as Flemeth’s emotion seemed almost fabricated to match Mythal’s.

_Do not mistake the pitcher for the water, da’len._

Flemeth turned to Kieran in a silent exchange. Kieran’s expression lightened with understanding while Flemeth’s remained melancholic.

She took the boy’s hands in hers and a blue light began to flow between them. Miriel’s breath caught in her throat as a pulsing blue orb was suddenly exhaled from Kieran’s body and absorbed into Flemeth’s.

_What was that?_ Miriel asked.

_Power,_ was her only answer.

“No more dreams?” Kieran asked after the light disappeared.

The woman smiled at the boy, “No more dreams.” Kieran smiled brightly and turned back to his mother. He ran over to her and she wrapped her arms around him in relief.

“A soul is not forced upon the unwilling, Morrigan. You were never in danger from me. As for you, Inquisitor, there is an ancient altar deep within a shaded wood. Go to it. Summon the dragon that is its guardian. Master it in combat, and it is yours to command against Corypheus. Fail, and die.” And with that, Flemeth turned from them and strode away with the confidence of millennia old being.

“Wait!” Morrigan cried, but Flemeth ignored her and only continued forward, stepping through the Eluvian and disappearing.

**

Morrigan kept Kieran close to her as they made their way back to Skyhold. They were quiet. The voices in Miriel’s head were quiet.

She hated it.

Upon reaching the physical world, Miriel informed runners to let Master Dennet know to prepare her Hart for travel. She told another runner to inform Bull, Cassandra, and… Solas that they were to accompany her to this altar.

She didn’t want to bring Solas with her. But she recognized that he had knowledge that would be useful and that it would be wise to bring him with her.

Even if they currently weren’t talking.

She told another runner to tell Cole to get ready as well.

She wished she could say what she was feeling. She wished she could say she felt anything other than a knife twisting itself slowly into her heart. But she had learned that no matter hard one wished, somethings just cannot happen.

They ready themselves in haste and she hoists herself up onto her Hart, her clansmen watching her with concern in their eyes. She could feel their eyes wandering over her body in the pattern of her scars. Solas refused to look at her as he climbed atop his steed. Iron Bull glared pointedly at Solas while Cassandra looked confused.

Cole rubbed at where his heart was supposed to beat, scratching at the fabric covering his chest.

“Too much, it’s too much, it’s not enough,” he gasped occasionally. _Funny_ , Miriel thought, _I used to think that whenever he made love to me._

The knife twisted deeper.

Dhavon walked up to her, placing a comforting hand on her knee, “Lethallan…. _Travel safely._ ” He murmured in their clan speak. Her replying smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Their journey for the day was quiet. Setting up the tents was quiet.

She hated the silence.

The second day was blessedly not silent… it was worse.

It seemed Cole had had enough and he was unable to keep quiet any longer as the pain built and built.

“Ar lasa mala revas. You are free. You are so beautiful. But then you turned away. Why?” The spirit boy asked. Miriel flinched at the words but knew that they were thankfully not directed at her.

“I had no choice.” He responded simply. Miriel bit her tongue. _There is always a choice._

“She is bare-faced, embarrassed, and she doesn’t know. She thinks it’s because of her.” Was it not? What else could have possibly driven him away? Perhaps it was introducing him to her family too quickly. Perhaps he realized that her being Dalish ran far deeper than any Vallaslin.

Creators, was he…embarrassed by her?

Cole gasped as another pain shot through her.

“You cannot heal this, Cole. Please, let it go.” His voice was so firm, so powerful. But it was also harsher than normal when speaking with Cole.

Why was he pushing everyone away?

“Perhaps Cole can get a better answer from you than I did.” She practically sneered. Her voice felt and sounded raw and wrong. It was tainted with bitterness and sorrow, so different from the easy happiness she had gotten so accustomed to.

“He hurts, an old pain from before, when everything sang the same. You’re real, and it means everyone could be real. It changes everything, but it can’t. They sleep, masked in a mirror, hiding, hurting, and to wake them…” Cole gasped and looked around curiously, as if in shock. “Where did it go?”

“I apologize, Cole. That is not a pain you can heal.” He…had shut Cole off, the bastard. Miriel’s lips thinned and she stopped her hart to turn in her saddle to face him.

“It will never be enough, will it?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You take and you take and it is not enough…not enough for me to be heartbroken and unhappy but to be left in the dark alone, screaming for answers. No, you have to take it all. But Solas, you can try to take more, but I will not let you. You cannot have the rest of me. You cannot have everything,” and then they were moving ahead again and she heard him sigh behind her.

“I would not have it any other way, Inquisitor,” and damn him because he sounded _proud_.

**

She had always been beautiful to him. Almost blindingly so, with her bright eyes and her strong back and an even stronger spirit. It was her strength that was so beautiful to him. The way she weathered everything thrown at her, from the Anchor to Haven, to being labeled the Herald of Andraste to him breaking her heart.

She was _strong_.

And he had taken some of that strength from her in that grove. He would never forgive himself for that.

Yet he did not doubt that she would be able to face Mythal’s Guardian without pause or weakness. He felt the power in the arena and he tried to not picture it when it had first been constructed, when the dragons had first been established here. Mythal had been so fond of her dragons, after all.

Now here was a new woman, much younger and as vibrant as Mythal had been in her youth. She stood defiantly against the dragon, her gaze never wavering from it.

He tempered his blows, knowing that this was not to kill but to best. Magical energy filled the arena and he saw Miriel’s hand twitch at the sudden influx of power in the Anchor. Ah yes, _that_. With a little bit of concentration and a quickly muttered spell, the Anchor quieted to a more controlled state.

When the Guardian finally angled its wings in acknowledgement, he brought a barrier up around it to tell Bull and Cassandra to cease their attacks.

“Hey!” Bull cried out angrily. Ah, Bull was using the creature to exhaust his anger.

Miriel held up her hand and they all backed up as she met the dragon’s gaze. The beast crooned and growled at her but she stood her ground, staring directly into its face. It screeched its call at her and she gave back twice as good. Blue, powerful light was suddenly emitted by her body, swirling and digging into the dragon. Its eyes grew soft and it moved closer to her, its nose brushing her shoulder in…affection.

Of course it would like her, she was….

There continued to be these moments where he had regretted his decision, where he saw her and was keenly aware of his loss. And then he would be reminded of his duty, by his conscious or by Revasala, and remain silent. 

The dragon then took off and they were all left standing in awe of Miriel.

“Well done,” he said and she gave him a long look. Cole itched at the cloth at his chest again, gasping as he sensed their pain.

“She wants…” but Miriel looked at him and shook her head.

“It will do no good, and I am tired.” She finally turned from him and he supposed it was for the best. She was right, of course, it would not help for Cole to gasp and murmur her pains for him to hear. It would hurt and he would cry himself silently into a fitful sleep.

Instead his sleep was just fitful and full of eyes staring at him…red eyes waiting….

**

She was thinking about Flemeth, about how Mythal, had said she had done the People proud. Her hand fell across her chest, her hand resting on her heart. She was surprised it still beat so faithfully. She was glad that it did, that even in the wake of not wanting to beat, it still did.

Miriel watched the flames in the fire climb then dissipate into the air and she supposed that it was symbolic of her love with Solas. Beautiful, hot…doomed to dissipate right before her eyes. And yet the heat remained.

She looked over to his tent, her beating heart aching…but also straining to heal.

Just as usual, he was the first to wake. He emerged from his tent, looking a bit more bedraggled than normal, but she tried to ignore that. His eyes widened upon seeing her and he made to go back inside.

“Stay,” she said quickly, “please,” she amended after he had stalled in front of his tent. She was worried that he wouldn’t heed her request but it seemed that he still respected some of those at least.

Solas sat down on the log next to hers tentatively, watching her.

“I wish to apologize,” she said softly. His eyes widened again.

“Inquisitor, that it is not necessary,” he replied.

“It is, actually. You asked for professionalism and I gave you hysterics. That was…unfair, to both of us.” Before he could reply, she held up a hand, stopping him, “I…I would like to have a moment with Solas, not my vhenan, or my Fade advisor, but my friend. I know it is a great thing I ask but –

“No, it is not.” He said, shaking his head, “We discussed many things before becoming… involved. If you would talk with me now, I shall hear you.” A small smile spread across her face and she dipped her head.

“Mythal…or Flemeth more accurately, said that I did the People proud. I... my goddess praised me, Solas. I know you do not believe her to be a goddess or worthy of worship or anything but… she said I did the People proud. Me. The woman the elves at the temple called shemlen.” Her hand went to her heart once more.

“You have every right to be praised for your efforts with the Inquisition. You have accomplished great things, no matter what I or anyone else believes, that remains true.” He told her. She finally looked at him, really looked at him since that night. She saw the circles under his eyes and the lines drawn across his face. He was stressed. He wasn’t sleeping.

He was hurting.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself, “Thank you, Solas. Whatever happens…thank you, for everything.” He returned her small smile and dipped his head in gratitude. The pain was still there, and it would be for some time. But the least she could do was try to rid some of his guilt, some of this…horrible ire that strained them both.

He always had his reasons and he was a private man. It was her courtesy to the man she loved, granting him this.

His vhenan was nothing if not a woman of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Also! If you ever have questions about the story or any of my characters, from minor to major, you an head over to my tumblr (scurvgirl.tumblr.com) and send in an ask. I am always down for prattling on about my babies. 
> 
> Please comment, leave kudos, you know. Thank you again!


	46. Power Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has come for Miriel to face Corypheus. SFW

Fear gripped her, tentacles holding her in a vice grip, refusing to relinquish her. Dark hands ensnared her wrists, dragging her down across rocks and water as the sky churned and transformed into an impossibly large maw. Droplets of saliva dripped off of fangs longer and wider than Miriel’s body. She thrashed against her bindings, screaming as her heart beat so fast it thrummed in her chest. Her sweat slicked skin mixed with the rising water, soaking her through. The water continued to rise to her mouth, and she flailed, her body writhing and gasping for air as she tried not to drown.

The sky monster hissed and the air released flattened Miriel against the rock and water. Slowly the water filled her mouth and lungs…dragging her down as her limbs began to burn in their restraints. Pain suddenly flared in her left hand and she screamed, water flooding her system as her world went black –

Miriel shot up in her bed, her chest heaving, dragging in ragged breaths. She touched her chest, her mouth, feeling the dryness there, reassuring herself it was a dream –

“AAAH!” She screamed as the pain engulfed her hand once more. Green light filled the room as the Anchor cackled and bloomed in excruciating power. She bent forward, her palm reaching out towards the mountain as the world shook and the sky split once more.

Corypheus was no longer content to hide, it seemed.

She focused her attention on the Anchor, willing it to calm and resolve itself into only small sparks of irritation instead of crippling pain. It was…not going as planned.

Her lungs strained, her mouth set in a hard grimace as she stared at the damn thing on her hand. _Listen to me!_ She willed.

_It won’t listen to_ you, Determination chided.

_Do not antagonize the woman, she is considerable pain._ Patience chastised the other spirit.

_“SHUT UP!_ ” Miriel screamed.

“I have not said anything,” an achingly familiar voice said. Miriel glanced to the edge of the room and groaned in pain.

“Not you…aah!” The anchor flared again and then Solas was walking across the room. He sat on her bed and took her hand, muttering a few words as he ran his hands over her palm. Slowly the Anchor began to settle back into her skin and her hyperventilating scaled down to slow, regular pants.

“Thank you,” she replied, leaning forward. His hand lingered on hers for a moment longer than necessary before he pulled himself away.

“Corypheus has reopened the Breach.”

“Really? I thought the Creators were just having a party or something,” she replied blithely. Solas continued to frown.

“It is a direct challenge. And he is…making it impossible to refuse,” Solas continued. Her brow furrowed as her face slowly turned serious.

“Impossible how?”

“Look at the edges of the Breach – he is trying desperately to widen it. There is a steady stream of magic to where Haven used to be. He is…using the Fade and the Breach as a small drain to pull this world into.”

“Could he actually do that?” She whispered. Solas sighed and turned back to her, green light illuminating from behind in an eerie cast.

“Should he allow him the chance to find out?” He replied softly.

Miriel’s eyes hardened and she took a deep breath. This was it, then. It was time. She took a deep breath, willing her stomach to calm itself. She could do this. She had to do this.

“Tell Bull, Cassandra, and Dorian to get ready – it’s time. Yes, you’re coming too,” she said as she flung the covers off herself and began to prepare herself for the upcoming battle.

Solas left her quarters and she began to pull on her armor. First came the soft underclothes that hugged her body – all woven with enchanted silk courtesy of Vivienne. Then she donned a mantle of chain mail, made from shipments of silverite Elodie had procured for her and the Wardens. Next came the leathers crafted by Harrit and enchanted by Dagna – the design courtesy of the Dalish clan in the Exalted Plains. A gift from Solas that continued to keep her safe. She wrapped the belts Varric had smuggled in for her to hold the small elixirs of lightning, fire, and ice. She slipped on golden rings, curved as snakes around her fingers – gifts of protection from Dorian. A stolen necklace imbued with luck, a gift from Sera. A helmet with a dragon cresting over the top – a result of slaying a Dragon with Bull.

She continued to don all the pieces to her armor, creating a shield of more than just metal and leather and cloth – but of the dedication and love of her friends and the Inquisition. They were with her, even if they were not exactly with her. Vivienne and Cole were some of the first to volunteer to lead efforts on the ground to help the soldiers. Blackwall and Varric took the battlefield alongside them, weary and tired of battle but knowing that they must stand and fight for at least this one last time. Sera was raring to go, ready to punch the sky and any demons that dared to fall from the sky.

She looked back at them, sitting atop her brave and beautiful Hart, and she felt buoyed. She could do this. Their eyes met hers and she smiled, raising her head high.

“Today…we stand on the precipice of the world. Today we ride into battle, hopeful, faithful, needing to win. And we will. We will stem this tide of evil just as the Hero of Ferelden stopped the Archdemon. Just as the Champion of Kirkwall stood up to the tyranny of Knight Commander Meredith. We will fight! And we will be victorious!” She shouted and her soldiers cheered. She looked back down at her friends, at their smiling faces and smiled kindly back.

“Let’s go save the world,” she murmured and then they were off.

They set a quick, sure pace through the Frostbacks. Their steeds were good and solid, perhaps even understanding the severity of the situation. It took them hours to reach the ruins of Haven, and even when they did…it was unrecognizable.

The sky was dark, churning with the Breach into a swirling mass of green and black. Rifts opened and closed as the Veil waived and tried to remain firmly in place. Waves of magic radiated from the center of Haven, sending shockwaves of pain through Miriel’s hand and arm. She grunted and flexed her hand, steeling herself.

“Inquisitor, your hand –

She reached out toward a rift that had just opened and pulled at the Veil, forcing it closed. She raised her hand to her face and exhaled.

“Is fine. Let’s go.” Her voice was hard, set to an edge…just like he had told her to do. She cut herself from pain, from emotion in that moment. She took in a deep breath, eyes fluttering closed – this was it.

Miriel opened her eyes, releasing that breath.

It was time to go kill a Magister.

**

Rocks crashed into the ground as Corypheus funneled his magic into lifting Haven into the sky. Miriel clutched at a ruined remnant of the Chantry. Her hand burned with power and pain but she ignored it as they were steadily drawn into the air. Large feet gripped the stone and soon she found her balance enough to follow Corypheus into the labyrinth he had thrust into the sky.

She turned back to her friends who were jolted themselves. Bull had brought Dorian to his chest, planting his large, firm body into the ground to keep them up right. Cassandra and Solas took wide stances, trying to balance.

The world whirred around her in a great cacophony of power and movement. Her skin prickled, the Anchor lit up and she turned around as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

“Corypheus,” she growled, freeing her bow and an arrow. Miriel wasted no time in beginning her assault on the man. The time for words had passed – it was his time to die. The arrow wedged itself into his shoulder guard when he turned. She grumbled in frustration but notched another arrow, firing…notching…firing….

Corypheus bellowed in retaliation and flung red lyrium at her and her friends. He was saying things, but she could not hear them, did not care to hear his mad ravings. She dove behind a rock and took a few breaths before crushing a flask of electricity against her armor. The world seemed to slow around her as the lightning let her leap from behind the rock and launch several more arrows at Corypheus.

Miriel landed with a resounding thud behind another boulder as time returned to normal. Corypheus’s speech was temporarily interrupted now that he had three arrows in his mouth.

He ripped the arrows from his jaw, inky blood splattering onto him in a fit of rage. His roar shook the stone and more red lyrium spewed from his hands, from the rocks, aiming for all of them in droves of spikes.

Solas ran out to the fore and drove his staff into the ground, casting as he went. A large billowing barrier was thrown up, bouncing the red lyrium back at Corypheus.

“RAAAAAH!” The Magister cried before floating his decrepit body away.

There was a brief stillness in the air. The rocks creaked and moved as Miriel rose from her position behind the rock. She turned to Solas, eyes wide.

“Thank you,” she said. He nodded, as if it was the most normal thing to do.

Her razor edge…softened just a bit.

The Breach thrummed once more with power, and Rifts tore open all around them, demons pouring in.

Well, so much for softness.

She picked up more arrows and began to dance around the demons, lodging arrows, knives, daggers – whatever she could arm herself with – into them. She brought her hand up and _pulled_ Rift after Rift closed until there was nothing left but ash and stone.

Miriel’s breathing was labored but they had a long way to go before Corypheus died.

Bull took point, Cassandra at flank, Dorian cast a barrier at the front of them while Solas and Miriel kept the back. _Have to keep going. I can do this. We can do this. We_ will _do this._

The world shook as roars filled the air and the lyrium dragon crashed into the edge of the Chantry.

“GET COVER!” Miriel shouted as the dragon continued to roar. Another screech filled the air and a large, brightly colored dragon slammed suddenly and violently into the darker and much larger dragon. The world keened as the dragons careened off of the Chantry, falling into the sky, screeching and clawing.

That worked better than she was expecting.

“Alright! Let’s move!” She cried. They set forth again, scaling the impossibly tall and flying hunk of rock and ruin they were standing on. Corypheus was spewing something how he was insulted by them but the roaring from the dragons again drowned him out. Poor Corypheus, always getting drowned out by the noise.

She ran into flank him, notching and launching arrows into his already twisted body. It seemed like no amount of damage they did affected him, that he was indeed impervious to all injury. But she saw then, leaking out around from one of her arrows, black sludge that she knew was blood.

The dragons screeched again, slamming heavily into the Chantry, and the giant hunk of rock violently careened. A large hunk of Chantry broke off as the dragons flew away and blew down towards Miriel too fast for her to dodge.

Well…shit.

A barrier then suddenly billowed brilliantly around her, diverting the structure _up_ and _around_ her. Her head whipped to where Solas and Dorian stood, their staves raised in a defensive posture. She nodded her thanks before turning back to Corypheus.

The magister reared his hand back, about to hurtle another bout of red lyrium at them when –

_CRASH!_

The rock underneath Miriel’s feet cracked and crumbled with an earsplitting thunderous blow. She couldn’t even gasp until all the wind was knocked out of her when she smacked into the stone below.

_Well, at least you didn’t die._ Determination quipped in her head.

_Now is not the time!_ She shouted back, dragging her battered body up. She turned her head to see the other members of the party grunting and picking themselves up as well.

Corypheus!

Miriel jumped up, sliding a dagger out of a sheath as she quickly surveyed the area…no Corypheus.

Oh good.

The rock shook again and she turned.

Aw shit.

A single exhale from the beast and she felt the tingle and burn from the red lyrium poisoning its body.

_I have to kill it._

_You will kill it._ For once, she was in agreement with Determination.

**

The dragon fell with a great screech, leaving Miriel’s ears ringing. She fell back, sprayed with black blood, trying not to swallow any of the poison. The now dead creature fell next her jostling Miriel’s body from the nearby impact.

A great light emanated from the body, engulfing the carcass in a shimmering cascade of red, only to coalesce into a nearly blinding ball of sickly red light. The ball leaked and fumed and reeked of old garbage, and it floated right into Corypheus’s chest.

The red lyrium shimmered over him only to be engulfed by his putrid body. He flailed as he was forced to accept the missing part of his soul, the last piece that would allow his death.

He _screeched_ louder than any dragon, turning his gaze back to Miriel.

The battle, it seemed, had only begun.

“Let it end here. Let the skies boil. Let the world be rent asunder.”

_He who runs at the mouth has no sticking power._ Determination yawned in her brain and Miriel smirked.

It was time for this to end.

Miriel flung herself back up the flying rock, climbing stairs up and up until she was falling into the final arena. This was where it would all end, where he would finally die, she would close the Breach and….

And what came next exactly?

_This is not the time to think about that, da’len._

Right.

Miriel and the rest were a well-oiled machine by now, working in perfect tandem as they flanked, beat, sliced, butchered Corypheus. Bull dug in, bringing his axe down on, splitting the red lyrium growing out of his skull.

Crack.

Miriel loosed an arrow.

It flew into the split lyrium.

Shatter.

The magic in her hand fluttered with power and Corypheus roared.

Boom.

They were blown back, landing hard against the stone pillars and ground. She dragged a slow breath in and _felt_ the orb Corypheus carry grow closer…and closer. He was shouting but the rushing in her ears from the magic…all she heard was its song.

That orb….

_It is elven._

She reached forward and the Anchor flared to life. Green light suddenly enveloped her arm and she screamed form the searing pain and the drugging _power_ that coursed through her.

_Is this what it was like?_ She whispered.

_Yes._ They said in unison.

Her soul lurched as the power snapped and suddenly she could breathe again.

She rose to her feet, orb ensnared in her left hand, pulsing with vibrant, live magic. The green light danced over her body in a shroud of power and she felt it sink into her chest, glow behind her eyes and fill her soul with power unlike anything this world has seen.

She breathed and he was blown back, falling to his knees in disbelief. His power taken from him, rent from his body and imbued into hers.

He never really stood a chance all along, not when this…this was _elven_. It recognized her, it flowed easily and warmly through her, wrapping its fingers into her skull and bones.

_How pathetic they fall._ She didn’t know who thought that, but…yes, it was pathetic.

His jaw was slack, and in that moment, she…pitied the creature. How tragic he must think himself, a champion for his dead people, doing whatever it took to raise them back to glory.

How horrible it must be to fail. How horrible it must be to only be remembered as a monster.

She met his gaze and took a deep breath, shoving the orb upwards toward the sky.

_Close._

And the Breach did as she willed, sealing its wavering borders at her whim.

Her mark surged then sucked the orb dry, rending it useless.

_It held power._

_That power is now yours._

Everything began to fall and crumble around her now that the power sustaining it was within her and not within the orb.

_It is within you._

Yes. Within her.

Miriel gritted her teeth and thrusted her hand forward, forcing the power out and around.

“You wanted into the Fade?” Her voice was loud. Too loud, echoing without a cavern but it felt _good._

_Never thought I would get power drunk._

_This is what it was like._

_Always high? Never down?_

_Always._

The Veil shifted and began turn on itself. Sinking and twisting within and around Corypheus. It snagged and grabbed and pulled Corypheus’s body, simultaneously dragging his body into the fade and obliterating it.

And just like that…he was gone.

_Oh._

_That was anticlimactic._ Determination sighed.

_We are still on a plummeting rock thousands of feet in the air._ Patience chipped in.

_Right._

“Solas! Dorian! Slow this fucking rock!” Miriel shouted.

“Easier said than done!” Dorian shouted back.

“Do you want to die?”

“Didn’t say we wouldn’t do it!”

She turned to see Dorian and Solas chugging the remaining lyrium potions. And then they were casting, their barriers combining in great scintillating spheres around the rock.

Solas was gritting his teeth as he forced the magic out of himself. It poured like a river, surrounding them in safety.

Her breath caught.

He was beautiful. He was always beautiful.

_Ma vhenan._

The rock didn’t stop, it continued to plummet, but the barrier absorbed most of the impact. The rest of the impact knocked them back, and they scattered, rolling and falling away in different places as the rock cracked and fell apart.

But they were alive.

And she loved him.

_It is within you._

_I’m not letting him go._

She hauled her body up off the ground and ran to him, the Anchor flaring as it was drawn to him, always drawn to him.

_I love him. Oh Mythal I love him. I love him!_

She ran up the stone and the stairs, racing towards him. Her mantra never leaving her head. He had made a mistake by leaving her, and she had made the mistake of letting him go.

She didn’t need an explanation, she needed him and dammit she was not letting him walk away again.

So she ran and climbed.

And then there he was, tall and beautiful even as he wore sorrow plainly upon his face and form. A hopeful smile spread across her face and she stepped forward, quickly and assured. She loved him, they could fix this.

He bent down and scooped up rocks – no, the broken fragments of the orb. Oh.

There were pinpricks of pain in her heart at seeing yet another relic of her people destroyed, but…they were alive, the power was within her, and she loved him. It was not the end of the world.

“Solas?” She asked, the tentativeness in her voice belying her eagerness to speak with him.

“The orb.” He whispered.

“I know you wanted the orb saved. I’m so sorry. But – “

“It is not _your_ fault.” He set the piece down and slowly rose, turning to her, face forlorn.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” She asked, her hope slipping a bit too much into her speech.

“It was not supposed to happen this way.”

“What? What was not supposed to happen this way?” She asked, stepping forward. He took a step back.

“Dammit, please, Solas, stop running. I love you, I am your vhenan, and you are mine.”

“Inquisitor –

“Solas, _please._ This…this was a mistake, a horrible, horrible mistake but…we can fix it, and whatever else needs fixing. The orb’s power, I _feel_ it, it is within me. The Well is within me, I can fix just about anything, you just need to talk to me.” She took his hands but he looked away. No, dammit, _no._

“It is not that simple.”

“Because you refuse to speak to me!”

“Because I cannot! _I cannot!_ Miriel, you ask too much, I…I cannot!” His voice was low and emphatic and tore her heart apart. But she would weather this, she could do it.

She heard shouting in the distance.

“Bull is injured!” Cassandra called.

“It’s not that bad!” Bull shouted next.

“Vishante kaffas, you’re bleeding!”

“You’re a mage from Tevinter! Surely you’ve seen some blood before!”

She had healing potions in her belt. Miriel turned back to Solas, knowing she was suddenly pulled in two directions.

“Solas…”

“Go to them, you are their Inquisitor.” He said softly. She looked back into his eyes and upon impulse moved her right hand to touch his cheek. To her surprise, he let her.

“I…” she stammered, but then she heard Bull cry out in pain. She had to go to him. She let go of Solas.

“We are not done with this conversation, Solas, you hear me? We aren’t done.” She stepped backwards, watching his face turn itself into the saddest smile she had ever seen.

“No matter what comes, I want you to know that what we had was real.”

“What we _have_ , ma vhenan.” She corrected. Bull cried again, and this time she turned to run to him.

She tended to Bull as quickly as possible, and soon a crowd began to draw. But she ran as soon as she could back to where she had left Solas.

He was gone.

“Solas.”

Nothing.

“Solas!”

She began to wander over the rocks and platforms, her already bruised and aching feet turned to bloody and blistered by the time she finally sank to her knees.

“Solas?”

**

She stood on her balcony, watching the revelry and excitement below. Their happiness was palpable, and relief surged through Skyhold. Even Cole was spotted dancing a bit with Maren, placing his hat briefly upon her head. As much of a spirit he was, there was still a shadow of humanity in him, one that drew him to celebrate in this – that or he was emotion drunk on all the good feelings around him.

Regardless, she was happy. Happy to have Corypheus dead. Happy to have won the day and to have sealed the Breach permanently.

The Mark in her hand flared and she gasped at the sudden pain that accompanied it.

_What? Why does it hurt?_

She was met with silence.

_Patience?_

Nothing.

_Determination?_

Nothing but her thoughts filled her mind and she briefly wondered if the Well had somehow abandoned her or had been stripped from her by taking in the power from the orb. But…no, there it was, all of the stores she had created…but they felt distant, removed.

_You are keeping me from it? Why?_

There was no answer.

_I am to house you and not know you? Please answer me! Let me know you have not left!_

_In due time, da’len, all will be revealed._

_What does that mean?_

_It means that it is not time for you to know._

_When will it be time?_

Silence once again was her answer. She closed her eyes and leaned against the bannister.

Fenedhis.

Left by Solas. The man she loved. Left by the Well – something she was even bound to. All that was left her, gloriously alone in her victory.

Her people danced freely below her, rejoicing in the fact that the world was not ending. And she stood above all that, a deep melancholy settling over her.

She had _won._ By all accounts she should be down there, celebrating with them. And she had for the first few hours, letting her hair down, after washing it clean of blood and gore. And then she had ended up here, still amazed that she had done this at all.

“You know, you are conspicuously absent from the festivities. I hear they are considering creating a holiday in honor of this.” Miriel turned to see Katra smiling, hands on her hips. Her hair was particularly large and poufy today, curls all the way down to her waist.

“Forgive me, I…I am not much in the mood to celebrate.” She said softly, turning back to look out over the courtyard.

“What is it with elves and brooding? You seem to excel at it.”

“I am not brooding.” Miriel countered a bit too quickly.

“Oh you are; you forget that I am a master at pointing out broodiness.” Katra strolled up beside Miriel and bumped her shoulder.

“Are you really going to let a man take away this celebration from you?” She asked quietly. Miriel went rigid, suddenly feeling horribly…insignificant and foolish as she realized that Katra was right.

After a long pause, Miriel sagged against the bannister, letting out a long breath.

“I let him go. He was there, all I had to do was stay and –

“And he would have left you regardless. Miriel, if someone is set in doing something, truly set, then they cannot be swayed from it. Their goal becomes a part of them. Solas…whatever is his goal, whatever it is that he wants to do…that has become a part of him and he cannot be separated from it.” Katra’s voice was as soft and kind as the hand she placed on Miriel’s shoulder.

But Miriel shook her head.

“I…don’t want to stop looking for him. Leliana says that her agents have found nothing but I don’t want to give up.” She finally said.

“Then don’t.”

“What?”

“You’re the fucking Inquisitor who just defeated one of the original magisters who unleashed the Blight on the world. You can do whatever the fuck you want, and if that includes hoping to find Solas…then you get to do that. So fucking do it! And stop moping, you’re the fucking Inquisitor – one of the most powerful women on the world with connection to pretty much every other powerful woman in the world: me, Ellie, the new Divine, Celene, Briala. You are the fucking Inquisitor.” It was an oddly inspirational if not obscene.

Miriel smiled and looked back down at her people.

Katra was right. She was the fucking Inquisitor and she could do whatever she wanted.

She turned back to Katra and smiled.

“You once called me wise, but I think you’re the wise one.” She said, bowing her head in compliment. Katra rolled her eyes and hooked her arms through Miriel’s.

“We’re _both_ wise. Now come on, you have a party to enjoy.” Katra tugged on Miriel’s arm and feeling herself slowly lighten with hope once more, Miriel set to follow her when a loud screech floated through the air. The women turned around to see a large dragon flying in the distance. Its beating wings were a bit staggered, but it lived, loudly and proudly.

Miriel smiled. The champion of Mythal yet lived.

“Dragons…beautiful creatures,” Katra whispered.

Miriel watched the dragon fly into the distance, the Well stirring within her.

“Stunning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> Now for some unpleasantness. I am going to put a slight pause on this story - VERY SLIGHT. The story isn't done, and about half of the next chunk of the story is written, it's just that there are multiple moving parts that need to be all finished for things to make sense plot wise. I don't think this will take longer than two weeks. So really, it's only missing one or two weeks of updates, is my plan. Don't worry, it will get done, it just needs to...be done in a way that will actually make sense. That being said, I have about five more chapters plus an important tie-in story in the works. Three of the chapters are written, and half of the tie-in is written. This fic isn't being abandoned in the slightest, I just need time to organize and get this done the right way. 
> 
> Thank you for understanding and supporting this story! You guys are the best.


	47. In Between, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana's replacement arrives, Miriel heads to the Frostback Basin, then to Wycome to reunite with her clan. SFW

She dressed in the red silk elven inspired robe that Josephine had commissioned. It had gold stitching, a navy blue sash, and allowed Miriel proper movement. Best of all, it lacked a corset. She pulled her hair into a bun, not bothering to disguise the shaved sides of her head. After she wrapped her feet, she stood to look in the mirror.

Her eyes widened in still unaccustomed surprised to her bare face. She reached up, a finger tracing the now absent bow and arrow. A sigh left her and she tried to shake herself of the sorrow that crept into her. No, she would not think about this today, she had been doing so well not thinking about it the entire week and she was not about to ruin her record now.

She continued with the preparation by lining her eyes with kohl and applying to her cheeks and lipstick. It wasn’t as beautiful or decorative as the Vallaslin, but it was pretty and she felt less naked and childlike with her face painted like this.

While Miriel still didn’t look like herself or even feel remotely close to herself, she was satisfied. She strode from her quarters to the main hall where the already commenced celebration was taking place. Josephine quickly found her, pulling her into a warm hug in an unusual display of affection when there were nobles around.

“Lady Lavellan! It is so good of you to join us!” Josephine exclaimed happily. Miriel patted the woman’s back, slightly confused but pleasantly surprised nonetheless.

“Of course, how could I miss the good bye party for our dearest spy master?” She asked wryly.

“Former spy master, Inquisitor,” Leliana clarified. Miriel turned and smiled politely at the impressively conservatively dressed redhead.

“I do not like the sound of that already.” Miriel hugged Leliana.

“Do not be too hasty, Inquisitor, I have made arrangements I think you will like.” Leliana stepped away, turned to the side and swept an arm out. A blonde elven man and a dark skinned dwarven woman stepped forward. The man was leering, dressed in formal black leathers while the woman’s eyes were wide with wonder as she gazed up at the high ceilings.

The man bowed low in an exaggerated gesture, “Greetings, Inquisitor. If I may be so bold as to say that the stories have done you no justice.” He reached out and took Miriel’s right hand, kissing her knuckles briefly before rising again.

“Inquisitor Lavellan, may I introduce Zevran Arainai. Former Antivan Crow and companion to the Hero of Ferelden, Elodie Amell,” Leliana said making Miriel’s eyebrows rise.

“I believe my people did business with you a few months ago.”

“Ah yes, that nasty business with Enzo and the Crows! Thank you for securing my escape, by the way, it allowed me to meet this lovely woman.” Zevran gestured down to the dwarven woman who finally looked at Miriel.

“Oh, hi! I’m Talya of House Cadash.” Talya stuck her hand out and Miriel shook it carefully.

“Greetings, Talya of House Cadash.”

“And how did you come upon her, exactly, Zevran?” Leliana inquired. The man sighed, placing a reassuring hand on Leliana’s shoulder.

“She was in a bit of a bind with the Crows. I didn’t think she needed killing so –

“You stole one of their marks, as if you didn’t already have a big enough target painted on your back.” Leliana admonished. But Zevran only smiled deviously.

“Talya is a lyrium smuggler with a wonderful story! I am sure you will be delighted to have her working with the Inquisition after you have sat down with a bottle of Antivan port,” he then produced two bottles of red wine from beneath his robes (from exactly where, Miriel wasn’t sure). At that moment, Miriel decided that she liked the Antivan and this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

“Welcome to the Inquisition!” She declared, taking one of the bottles.

“Inquisitor, perhaps we should vet them more –

“What is there to vet, Josie? He brings fine wine, a nice dwarven lady, and wait…did Elodie like you? And remember, I can verify if she did, so I would advise against lying.” She said.

“I did travel with the famed Hero of Ferelden. She and I were quite good friends; it is a shame we have fallen out of contact in recent years.”

“Elodie was fond of him, even after he tried to assassinate her.” Leliana explained further.

“You tried to assassinate her?” Miriel asked, pointedly staring at the bottle in her hand. He was a former Crow after all…and her death could be beneficial for some people.

“Er, yes. I was hired by the then alive and scheming Teyrn Loghain. Elodie was quick to spank me and show me the right way,” Zevran smirked, earning an eye roll from Leliana.

“Zevran has graciously agreed to be the new Spy master for the Inquisition. Considering his history and my own personal recommendation as well as that of Lady Amell’s, I am sure he is quite qualified,” Leliana continued. Miriel then shrugged, it sounded like he had kissed his blindly murdering people phase goodbye, and Leliana and Elodie seemed to like him. That was good enough for her. The Antivan could stay and run the spies, no issue and she had told Leliana to find a replacement by the time she ascended the Sunburst Throne. It worked out.

“It sounds perfectly acceptable to me, though I do retain the ability to replace you if I see the need. There are some logistics to be worked out, but that can be taken care of later, right now we are celebrating,” Miriel declared, grabbing a wine opener from a nearby table to work the cork out of the Antivan port.

“Ah thank you so much, dear Inquisitor, I will be sure not to disappoint,” Zevran said. Miriel shrugged.

“You do that. Talya! What’s your story?” Miriel asked, still not sure why she was here. The Inquisition had a reliable, albeit potentially somewhat illegal, lyrium supply, they didn’t need another one.

But it was not Talya who answered, but Zevran, “I owe her a debt. She was invaluable in helping me evade the Crows. Lyrium bombs and such. I offered to pay her back with my services…fortunately for her, I did not specify which services.”

“So you thought you could pay her in sex but she wanted something of actual substance,” Miriel surmised, she nodded at Talya, “good woman.” Talya smiled proudly, and dipped into a bow.

“I do try to plan at least somewhat ahead,” the woman said dryly. Miriel sat down in a most unladylike fashion, pouring herself a generous glass of wine.

“What I am curious about, though, is why you decided to help him in the first place…unless you knew who he was. At that point however, one must ask – how did you know?” Miriel asked, sipping the wine. Talya’s eyes widened and Zevran shrugged as everyone turned to look at the odd duo.

“I…I….”

“The Crows were trying to buy her, of course.” Zevran said unconcerned.

“You knew?” Talya asked incredulous.

“Dear Talya, it was obvious. The Crows backed off too easily and you knew how to disarm them too well, especially for a young dwarven lass who has never encountered them before.” Zevran walked over and poured himself some wine, pulling up a seat next to Miriel.

Talya meanwhile was trying to sputter out a response, “I…they said they could help me pay my debts.”

“I know, which is why I did not kill you.” Zevran explained. Miriel nodded, following his train of thought.

“You knew her loyalties were never to the Crows but to fixing her debt,” Miriel said and this time Zevran nodded.

“Precisely, and I knew there was a better way to solve this issue than to have her displace her debt from the Merchant’s Guild to the Crows.”

“The Inquisition.”

“It was a gamble, but it looks like it paid off,” the elves clinked glasses as Talya, Leliana, and Josephine looked on. Talya and Josie were shocked while Leliana was nodding, impressed.

“Did I hear someone is indebted to the Merchant’s Guild?” Varric was suddenly at the table, seemingly summoned by the key words of “dwarf”, “debt”, and “Merchant’s Guild.”

“Yes, it looks like our new associate, Talya Cadash has found herself in a bit of trouble,” Miriel explained and Varric sighed, such as it always was.

“Cadash? Maker, your family is in deep with that cousin of yours. What’s his name, Rodick? Rinick?” Varric asked, sipping from his own glass. Talya pursed her lips and crossed her arms.

“Rorick. And yeah, he’s a gambling idiot who gets the rest of the house in huge debts.”

“And then you start smuggling lyrium, which pisses off the Carta.”

“And then the Crows find me and offer to get the Carta off my back and the debts paid if I just help them bring in this one guy.” Talya finished. Zevran shrugged, smiling smugly.

“And as you can see, what I did was perfectly reasonable. Also, you can help her, yes? She is quite talented and has some very interesting contacts,” Zevran said and Miriel contemplated it, or at least gave the pretense of contemplating it, before nodding.

“She’s in, but your connections to the Crows better be severed – we don’t want them bearing down on us,” Miriel said, finishing off her glass.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a champion to find,” and with that, Miriel skipped off to find Katra.

**

She fell asleep in her too big bed hours later, arranging her pillows so that she didn’t feel quite so alone. The wine had thankfully created a warm, easy languidness in her and she drifted easily into sleep.

The Fade was stranger to her after absorbing the power form the orb. It was green and drifting, though not terrifyingly bleak like when she had walked it to face the Nightmare. But she was more…aware of it. She could feel the crackling energy and the smooth magic around her. It was like being aware of being wet when underwater.

Her dreams often required direction from her now, solid input as to what she _wanted_ to dream about.

Her desire was always the same. The Anchor twitched in her hand and she let out a breath.

_Find him._

The Fade moved and wavered around her for several moments before solidifying into another elven ruin. But unlike the others, this ruin was a simple gazebo nestled into a beautiful green valley. There were even butterflies flitting about.

And there in the center of the gazebo stood Solas. He stood with his back to her, his normal soft clothing flapping in the gentle breeze. It was…strangely reminiscent of Haven almost, with the sun hanging low in the sky and his hands behind his back.

Her eyes widened and her fingers twitched in excitement. She…had yet to actually find him, he somehow had always anticipated her trying to follow him and had disappeared by the time she arrived at the ruin.

But he had either not seen her coming this time or had not cared or she had gotten here just in time to see him vanish. She took a step forward and his ear twitched. She expected him to leave but instead he only turned around with wide, surprised eyes.

Then his face lit up and he smiled, with crinkling eyes and his lips pulled back over shiny white teeth. Not his diplomatic smile, but his truly, genuinely happy smile. The last time she had seen it, he had been whispering happy birthday between her thighs.

“Vhenan, I…no, this isn’t real but you are…Vhenan.” And then he was stepping towards her earnestly.

How…but he…

Miriel smiled at him and broke into a run, throwing her arms around him in a fierce hug. She buried her face into the crook of his neck in disbelief. This was him. She clutched, clung to him, feeling the press of his big body against hers.

His arms came around her just as intensely, lips running up the curve of her ear.

“Vhenan,” he whispered, clutching her back. His voice was thick with emotion and she felt a wetness at her neck as he pressed his face to her neck.

She could hardly speak as they clung to each other in overwrought emotion.

Something in the back of her mind told her that this was probably not the best idea, that he could be a demon masquerading. But the magic bent and wavered around him like it always had, unlike any of the demons that had tried to tempt and harass her before.

She trembled in his grasp and smiled as she moved her head to trail her own lips over his ear.

“Solas, my love,” she whispered. His hold tightened on her briefly before pulled just enough away to run a hand over her hair.

“You are so beautiful.” It was quiet, his voice, their movements, all moving together drawn closer and closer like magnets. And then his lips were pressed against hers in a too gentle, too sweet kiss that made her heart stutter. Her hands came up and cupped his face as he deepened the kiss, not hesitating in the slightest to tease her mouth open with his wonderfully sinful tongue.

She gasped into his mouth and rubbed against him eagerly.

Solas. How could this…

What was…

Half-formed, half-answered questions lingered in her head as they moved to the gazebo, his hands sturdy and strong as he carried her. Her legs wrapped around his waist and she giggled at the reminder of just how much bigger he was than her.

He set her down on a stone bench, briefly disentangling himself. Fear shot through her that he was going to leave once more, but he simply sat her down and then himself. His fingers caressed her face and leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers.

“Vhenan, there is so much I want to tell you,” he whispered.

“Then tell me, ma’lath,” she answered. He paused and kissed her temple.

“This…is all very convincing, you are so much like her.” He kissed her again and confused rippled through her.

‘Like’ _her_? Did he…did he not realize that she was herself?

She looked back up at him, his eyes full of unrestrained emotion and realized that no, he did not realize it was actually her sitting before him. No matter how close they had gotten, there had always been some level of guardedness around him.

Miriel reached out and touched his face and forced herself to smile. She was about to tell him, her lips parted to say something, only to stall.

What would happen if he knew? He would most likely leave her all over again. She was tired of watching him go.

So she only leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

“I love you, Solas, that will never change.”

A staggered breath left him and he leaned against her shoulder.

“I fear that is not the case.”

“That sounds like a challenge, you know how I am about challenges.” She giggled, caressing his head how he liked. He chuckled and nuzzled in closer to her.

“Stubborn, even here, even when I allow myself to dream of you.”

“Some things don’t change.”

He went still at that and then pulled away. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her cheek, and finally her lips.

“You are always right, even when you do not mean to be. It is selfish and perverse for me to wish your forgiveness, but I am a flawed man. And I wish your forgiveness.”

She touched his cheek and gave a small smile.

“You need only apologize.”

But he shook his head and half-turned from her.

“There is no apology large enough for what I have done.” He bemoaned. Miriel cupped his jaw and turned his face gently back to her. She looked into his eyes, hard and determined and full of the love that burned as hot ever in her.

“Try.”

Her eyes opened to find Madame Shirot and Josephine standing over her, demanding she wake up for another day as the Inquisitor. There was apparently a soiree later and she had to dress.

She didn’t know exactly where she was for the first five minutes of talking and walking, still feeling her heart in that little gazebo in a far off meadow.

The day came and went and if anyone said she seemed hurried for some reason, they would be correct. She had seen him last night, seen him, touched him, _kissed_ him in her dreams, so close to having him unravel in her hands, to telling her what had happened…

To only have it taken away once again.

She drank more wine and lulled herself asleep as soon as she was able. She instructed the Anchor to lead her to Solas and the valley once more. She arrived and waved to him, he smiled only to have his eyes widen and then shake his head before his body flickered and disappeared.

Awakened, apparently.

She waited for him for the rest of the night in the gazebo, but he didn’t return. Nor did he return the next night, or the following.

Fenedhis.

**

A week later, her advisers approached her on some…interesting developments happening in the Frostback Basin. Apparently the Inquisition was needed for more than just dealing with Corypheus.

Miriel left Katra in charge while she, Dorian, Cassandra, Bull, and Cole all head to the Basin to fix whatever fuckery was going on.

And apparently, it was a lot of fuckery. Another god and another dragon, spirits, enchanted weapons, and blood magic galore – did Thedas _enjoy_ all of these things? Miriel thought of all of the happenings of such things in the past ten years and it just seems ridiculously excessive.

_It is,_ Patience said and Miriel sighed. The Well’s guardians were continuing to speak to her sporadically but she still didn’t quite know what to do with it. With Morrigan and…with Morrigan gone and Flemeth no longer trying to communicate with Miriel, it was rather difficult to figure out what to do.

As the Inquisitor, Miriel had power. And as the vessel for the Well of Sorrows, she had power. But she didn’t know how to connect the two – they were separate powers. And her oh so wise spirit advisers were keeping relatively quiet most days.

Regardless, Miriel did her job. She tracked the energies to the island and found… Telanna.

The Anchor snapped and flared, power seizing around her in a violent sea of green before bursting into a surging bubble around her. And there was Telanna, who died waiting for her love. She searched and searched in unending dreams only to find nothing of him.

Miriel watched the final essence of the trapped woman dissipate away and she whispered a prayer to Falon’Din that her soul found rest.

She thought back to the dream she had stumbled upon earlier in the month, where she had somehow caught Solas trying to dream of her, or to create a dream version of her. She thought of how she had used the Anchor and whatever magic she had control of to search and find him. Like Telanna.

And then Miriel discovered why Telanna never found Ameridan. Ire rose within her as she spied the clearly Dalish and elven man ensconced in powerful magic. She wanted to scream, at Cassandra, at the Chantry, at anyone, for forgetting exactly who Ameridan was. That the humans and their fucking Chantry had been so blind in their exclusion of elves that they conveniently forgot that their own beloved original Inquisitor was in fact an elf. And not just an elf, but a Dalish elf with clear Vallaslin dedicating him to Dirthamen.

A Dalish elf who had bravely sacrificed himself and his happiness for them.

He told her to be strong in the face of history, and that no matter how history remembered her to do the right thing. What a subjective thing that was, though. She didn’t know if that wisdom came from her or from the Well, and quite frankly, she was too tired to examine it too closely.

When the dragon was slain and the spirit of Hakkon was freed, they returned to camp, bumped and bruised but victorious all the same. But she was awake, brimming with energy and sadness and just…everything.

Her thoughts refused to quiet as she was filled with the anger at the Chantry for all they had done to her people. And the burning frustration she seemed to carry with her all the time. She tossed and turned restlessly, her frustration growing until it burst into definite action.

She grabbed her bow and cloak and headed out to the island where the Veil was paper thin and the air pricked at her skin.

Images of the grove with the waterfall invaded her head. She shook them free and walked to Telanna’s hut, feeling…she didn’t know.

“How did you keep going?” She asked before she realized what she was doing.

“When you knew…when you knew that it wasn’t what he wanted but what he needed, how did you find the strength to keep going? To keep…beating against a door that you can only hope will open? I want to be strong Telanna, but I don’t want to die. I love him, but I can’t give him everything that I am. I can’t…I can’t.” Tears slipped down her cheeks and she brushed them away.

What was she doing here? Searching for answers in long dead bones. But her hand and head ached and she couldn’t pull herself away.

The only way was forward. She dropped to the ground and pulled her knees to her chest, resting her back against the hut.

“My father saved my mother’s life with love and from love they created not only a new life for themselves but three new lives in me and my sisters. That is what I know of love, a force of salvation and creation, but what I’ve learned is…sacrifice and pain. Suffering. That’s…wrong. Alexius destroyed everything in his wake for the love of his son, sacrificing that which was not his. And it was love that twisted the knife in Briala’s back. Love…is twisting its knife inside me,” the tears flowed more freely now, turning her golden skin red. Her nose ran and she felt her eyes swell. Her skin felt raw and splotchy and she herself felt absolutely disgusting, wet, bedraggled.

“I wanted to marry him out of love. I still want to, I think. And I want to have his children, want to give him children. And I want to…have inappropriate sex in inappropriate places because we’re in love but that isn’t happening. But I hope…”

She keened at the word. Hope. What had it done? It felt just as guilty in some aspects as love did. Buoying her up when it should have been preparing her for the pain and agony that was surely to come.

“I saved the fucking world from Corypheus and the Breach, and what do I get? A broken fucking heart and sobbing madly at the grave of a woman who couldn’t save the man she loved?”

Another sob wrenched itself from her chest. She winced and clutched at the fabric covering the offending body part.

Every time she closed her eyes, she felt his hands on her, memories echoing in the Fade and trying to make their way to her. Soft grey-blue eyes full of sadness and mystery fluttering closed and then the sensation of pressure upon her lips – it was too much.

“Damn it! Damn this!” She screamed.

“I love him! I do not understand! Why didn’t he just talk to me?” Her breathing became labored and she slumped against the ground, trying in vain to compose herself.

He loved her. He loved her and yet he had done this, left with no explanation, leaving her in tatters and refusing her any closure whatsoever. Even as the words of him ending things echoed through her head, she felt his love trying to coil around her.

_I never meant to cause you pain._

Yeah, well, fuck you.

_It would be better in the long run, but losing you would –_

Would what, Solas? Destroy you? Leave you sobbing at the ass end of nowhere with no one to talk to? _Tell me, Solas, how much it would hurt._

_You have shown a wisdom….you are so beautiful….you change…everything._

But why couldn’t she change this?

It felt like she was vomiting emotion and the spirits on the island had gathered into a weird circle around the hut, watching as she battled to find something resembling stability.

It wasn’t anger, but resentment and love that tangled within her. She did not hate, nor did she blame or wish to inflict further pain.

She simply wanted it to stop.

She cried until she couldn’t cry anymore and she fell to the floor of the hut in exhaustion, falling fitfully into the Fade.

The anchor flared to life and she bid it take her to Solas. And there he stood once more in the gazebo in the beautiful meadow. Her beautiful Solas, standing so tall and so sad as he watched the breeze ruffle the tall grass.

Tears slipped down her face once again but this time she allowed them to flow. His ears twitched again and he turned around, brow furrowing in confusion when he spotted her off in the distance.

He closed the distance between them and ran a finger down her wet cheek.

“Shh, vhenan.”

She shook her head.

“You hurt me,” she whispered and he made a strange noise in the back of his throat before wrapping his arms around her and bringing her to his chest.

“I did not mean –

“Bull fucking shit. Solas, I love you, but your intention counts for shit now. It’s not enough.”

He froze and maneuvered her so he could look her in the eye.

“Miriel?”

“Yes?”

“No, it’s… _you._ ” But he didn’t recoil from her, his face just fell as guilt replaced all happiness there. She gave a small bitter laugh and sniffled.

“I know, it’s so awful, being me.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“But it is what is. Solas…you said you have done irreparable harm, beyond an apology, but if you just…apologize and come home…this can’t be it. We didn’t even get a real chance to try.” She pressed against him and…he returned the pressure, wrapping his arms around her tightly once more.

“There is more that you don’t know, that I won’t burden you with. Because I love you, Miriel. I do, and I will not have you tied to me when it is all said and done.” His voice broke and his form shook ever so slightly.

“What did you do that is so awful? Talk to me, vhenan.” She pleaded and his body shivered. His nose buried its way into her hair and inhaled deeply before he pulled away.

“I would if I only could, Miriel. I was…wrong to not tell you, but the window of opportunity has passed.” He cupped her face and gave her a long, lingering kiss. But confusion swept through her.

“Why can’t you tell me?” She asked. His eyes were soft and his lips seemed reluctant to leave her, glancing over her cheeks, nose, brow.

“I love you, vhenan, I cannot let go of that. But you should let go of me. Be happy, my heart, live and let me go.” A soft voice to go with a soft countenance, but it was sharp too in what he asked.

Miriel shook her head, “I…can’t –

“You have been so strong; from the first time I saw you. Even unconscious you were strong, fighting against the magic that would kill you.” His hand stroked her face tenderly and she leaned into him, denying his claims. He had saved her.

“You saved me from this, not –

“No. Anyone lesser would have died instantaneously, I merely encouraged your strength. Do not devalue yourself here. You can do this. Let go.”

“How can I let go when you hold me like this? When you say that you love me? I love you.”

“Because I can only bring you heartache and pain.”

She didn’t answer immediately, but only pressed her face close into the soft fabric of his tunic. She thought she was crying, but she couldn’t be sure – it was different in the Fade. The pain sharper, but the love and determination stronger as well.

“Let go,” his hand petted her hair and a lump formed in her throat.

“You sound like a demon.”

He chuckled, “If it were only that simple.”

What would happen if she let go? Would she never see him again? The thought sent a sharp pain into her abdomen.

Would his touch and kisses fade into distant, almost unreal memory?

Would she…forget her love for him? No, that was impossible. But the feeling could fade after time. It could dull into a long since passed ache that only flares at night, or when she sees something that reminds her of him.

Would…would she love again? Could she love someone else? Surely not to this magnitude.

Would she want to love again?

Miriel looked up at him and he down at her. She leaned up and pressed her lips to his.

She didn’t know the answers to any of those questions. But she knew that she wanted to be happy again, to start feeling like herself again. And she couldn’t remember what herself felt like without him.

This wasn’t the love that had felt so amazing. This wasn’t the love that she had woken up to every morning.

This wasn’t the love that it had been, and it wasn’t going to be that again. Not with him gone, not with him unable and unwilling to change.

Solas gasped and grasped her tightly as they kissed, tears rolling down both their faces. She tasted the salt and it hurt but Creators, she could not live like this.

They pulled back from each other and he caressed her face, he looked so proud of her.

“Good,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Live, vhenan, take pleasure in what happiness you can still find.”

“Goodbye, Solas, I love you.”

“Ar lath ma, vhenan. Dareth’shiral.” He closed his eyes and she closed hers and they kissed one last time.

When she opened her eyes, she was laying on the ground in Telanna’s hut. Her face was covered in tears and her body in dirt. Her chest ached, but she could breathe, and she could stand.

She didn’t know if she could be happy again, didn’t know if she could love again. But she knew that she wanted the chance to at least try.

**

Solas woke from the dream, crying. But he smiled as he clutched at his chest, struggling to breathe correctly. He had told her to let go and she had. He still felt the withdrawal of first her lips, then her hands, and finally her spirit had drifted from him, the faint scent of honey suckle in the air.

She had let go of him.

It was the right thing for her to do, he had not been lying when he had told her that all he could bring her was heartache and pain.

But if it was the right thing, why did he feel like he couldn’t even drag himself out of bed? He turned to his side ad pressed his face into the pack he was using as a pillow.

He had wanted to tell her everything, he should have told her everything. But now his tongue was bound to _her_ whim and he felt himself recoil from the seemingly soothing touch from inside. No, he did not want any comfort she could provide for there was none. She wished her heart dead and sundered. All he wished was that he could live with his in peace.

“Sir? The sun is beginning to rise, you said you wanted to set out early today.” An agent called from outside of his tent. He paused, gathering his voice.

“I will be out soon.”

**

When she arrived back at Skyhold, she was approached by her family, bashful looks upon their faces.

“Is something wrong?” She asked but Rana shook her head and took Miriel’s hands in her own.

“No, not exactly. Just…we miss the clan, Fenaven talks about our people constantly and he cries about them. Little Venna hasn’t even met her Keeper, and with Maren, Ileth, and Tonlen now leaving with Madame Vivienne to begin their training…Theron and I…we were thinking we could return to the clan.” Her sister shuffled her feet in nervous habit.

Miriel smiled and wrapped her arms around Rana.

“Of course you can go home! Venna should know her people… is Dhavon going with you? Where is he anyways?” She looked around and her sister began to shift again while Theron smiled.

“Oh he’s probably with that pretty girl he found hanging around the stables a couple months ago,” Theron said, eyebrows waggling suggestively. Miriel arched a brow at him and he shrugged.

“So they would be around the stables?”

“Oh they have been to all manner of places, if you catch my drift.” Theron continued. Rana rolled her eyes.

“Ignore him, last I saw, they were training with the Commander.”

“I thought you said she worked with the halla?”

“No!” Theron said excitedly, “She’s a warrior lass, just happens to be fond of the halla.” He told her and she nodded. She could make a stop by to see the troops training, it’s been a while since she checked on their progress anyways.

She reassured Rana and Theron that, yes, of course, they could make their way back to the clan, she just had to make the arrangements. She then made her way to the training yard where most the soldiers were all sweating, grunting, and often bantering. She walked her way through the training yard, searching for Cullen first. As per usual, he was at the front, observing his soldiers.

“Commander, how are we today?” She asked stepping up to him.

“Inquisitor, what a surprise. And we are surprisingly in good form after the number of injuries sustained from the Basin.” She looked back out at the soldiers, noting the amount of bandages on arms, torsos, legs…one particularly driven woman was running drills with a bandage over an eye.

“Is everyone cleared to be practicing?”

“Yes, of course, Inquisitor.”

They continued through the training yard, and she kept scanning the area for Dhavon. She found him in a corner, training with an elf about the same height as Miriel, but much more thickly muscled.

Miriel grinned and slipped into the shadows to…spy on him. You can take the hunter out of the clan but you can’t take the hunter out of the elf.

She watched this woman and Dhavon sparred, and it was clear that she was that much more skilled than he was. But he had his size on her, and could absorb blows much more easily than she. That being said, he was taking care to avoid those little jabs she had going on. She had amazing form, quick, precise – probably packed a lot of power in those fists.

The girl was clearly Dalish from the bright blue Vallaslin dedicating her to Mythal – trailing up and over half of her scalp, twining around an ear. She was veritably covered in freckles, scars lacing over her arms and a couple of nasty ones on her face. But she was undeniably beautiful, fierce even.

Exactly Dhavon’s type. Which meant that she was about to tackle his ass –

Yep and there they went, toppling into the ground with her ending up pinning him.

Miriel stepped out from the shadows, clapping, “Good show!” The woman’s head whipped around in shock to see Miriel. Dhavon waved and the woman hopped off and quickly assumed the “proper and respectful stance” of a soldier meeting the Inquisitor.

“At ease, soldier. Aneth’ara, Dhavon. Couldn’t wait for me to get back to kick your ass?” She teased while he picked his sweaty body off the ground.

“Hello to you too, Miri.” He chuckled. Miriel arched a brow at him and her eyes flicked over to the woman indicatively.

“Oh right, uh. Miriel, this is Llana. Llana this is Miriel.”

Miriel smiled and stuck her arm out. Llana looked at it for a moment before reaching out and grabbing her arm in greeting.

“Andaran’atishan, lethallan.” They pulled away, Miriel still smiling but the two of them looked…exceptionally awkward as they actively tried not to look at each other.

Oh for the love of –

“So Rana and Theron are wanting to go back to the clan, which of course they are allowed to do. But I need to make the arrangements and I need to know if you are heading back with them or not.”

“Yes, we are,” the woman said immediately. Miriel’s eyes widened and she leaned back at first, surprised, but a grin spread across her face before she made a noise of happiness and threw her arms around Llana in a tight hug.

“Welcome, lethallan!” Miriel said while Llana’s body tensed at the sudden hug.

“Oh, um, thank you!”

A hand touched Miriel’s back and she stepped back, letting Llana go. Dhavon stood behind Miriel and smiled gratefully at her.

“So you…don’t mind?”

“Dhavon, I was practically flaunting my relationship with Solas in front of you for the past few months, of course I don’t mind you found someone else! We may not be together, but I want you to be happy.”

Dhavon smiled bashfully and nodded his head before moving back to stand by Llana. She blushed and looked up at him and he took her hand.

“Lavellan will welcome you, I am sure.”

**

The arrangements were easy enough to make since they didn’t need the same amount of soldiers this time for transport. And with the tiny children, Miriel was able to procure a carriage for Rana. Theron was a bit insistent on riding outside, he was trained for combat after all.

Dhavon and Llana were happy to guard the carriage as well, and as she communicated with the Keeper the more she realized…she was still Dalish. She kept slipping into her clan speak, spending more and more of her time with her clan mates, plus Llana.

So a few days out from the departure date, Miriel decided to travel with them to Wycome, to see her clan once again. Maybe she could further explore this whole learning how to be happy and whole again thing that she was trying so desperately to achieve.

And in a month’s time, Miriel stood on the docks of Wycome, still trying to get used to solid land when a familiar elderly woman strode forward. Her face was lined with time and a dedication to Ghilan’nain, her white hair falling in long braids down her back – a stark contrast against her warm dark skin. Miriel’s heart lightened considerably, relief coursing through her. She smiled broadly and freely at Deshanna and broke into a run. She ran into the arms of her Keeper, wrapping her own arms around the strong older woman.

“Da’len, it has been too long,” Deshanna whispered into Miriel’s ear. Miriel choked back a sob and held the woman closer. Fenaven joined them, giggling madly as he flung himself at the two women. Deshanna pulled away and cooed at the now five-year-old, bending down and wrapping him in a tight hug.

“And Fenaven! You have gotten so big!” She praised. The boy giggled and soon they were all joined by the others. Deshanna looked up and smiled at Rana and Theron, embracing them and the little child in Rana’s arms.

“And who do we have here?”

“Vhenival, Keeper.”

“Vhenival…a beautiful name for a beautiful member of the People.” Deshanna ran a hand over the babe’s face.

“We shall have to have a proper naming ceremony of course, but that can be arranged in due time…. And who is this? I do not recognize her as one of our own.”

Dhavon smiled, blushing wildly, matching the red vines on his face, as he laid a gentle hand on Llana’s shoulder.

“Keeper, this is Bellanaris of clan Elethari of Northern Orlais. She…left due to…differences with the clan.” Dhavon explained. Deshanna arched a brow at him and then looked down at her.

“And is she incapable of speaking for herself?”

“No,” Llana said, stepping forward. The Keeper smiles and nodded.

“Good, then we will discuss it…at some point. For now, we celebrate at being reunited with our brothers and sisters who have been away from the clan.” She made a grand sweeping gesture and urged everyone through the city, explaining in detail all of the work they were currently doing to not only rebuild and clean the city, but to improve and redistrict at least some of it.

“The Alienage is slowly but surely being torn down and rebuilt and to be properly incorporated into not just the rest of the city, but the garden district where the clan has set up, incidentally.” The construction was evident and loud as they moved through the city, crossing over the lattice work of canals built over the river.

They passed a square that had been abandoned, gates and guards up and warning everyone to stay away from the red lyrium infected well inside. Miriel nodded her thanks at the guards, glad to see that proper precautions were being taken with the red lyrium.

“Miriel, I must ask now, why is your face bare? How has this come to pass?” Deshanna asked, urging the group into a large boat resting in one of the main canals.

Miriel blushed and sighed. This was going to be a long story. She told her story of falling in love with Solas only to have him reveal the truth of the markings to her, then had agreed to have them removed. Her voice broke while she spoke of him breaking her heart and then leaving without a trace, without so much as a goodbye at the beginning. She conveniently left out the dreams, however, wanting to keep some things private.

The Keeper was quiet for a moment before turning and wrapping Miriel in a tight hug.

“Sometimes the path bends unexpectedly and we can do nothing but follow it to where it leads.” She said cryptically, patting Miriel’s head.

“Oh, thank you-

“And sometimes we meet people who twist us up inside and leave us alone to untwist it once more. But you are not alone, da’len, you are home and we will help.”

Miriel’s heart swelled in her chest and she rested against her Keeper, feeling a little bit of herself begin to untwist. She could do this. She could rediscover happiness for herself and on her own terms.

They moved through the canals and exited the boat soon after the completion of Miriel’s story. Rana and the Keeper babbled on about Vhenival while Theron kept Fenaven entertained and happy. Dhavon and Llana were in their own little world, whispering and blushing at each other at the tail end of the group as they walked.

And while everyone else was concerned with another, Miriel watched the city and marveled at it. It was gorgeous. Lined with canals, old leaning buildings, and happy humans bustling about, peddling wares and smiling at each other in passing. A few elves passed, skipping by in a hurry. A few saluted or even bowed to the Keeper as they passed and she managed to acknowledge all of them.

It was…odd, not being the center of attention in a foreign place. Normally she would arrive and people would gather around her, singing praises or making demands of her station as Inquisitor, but here…it was the Keeper that was revered, and she took it with an enviable grace. Well of course, Miriel thought, she’s only been doing this for thirty years.

The city was built upon dikes, making it not the most…level of cities. The ground was naturally low, resting in one of the deltas of the large Minanter river, but the city itself was raised up and built up against the dikes. It was…not the most structurally sound idea the humans had ever had, but it made for a gorgeous city, with buildings that were narrowly pressed up against each other and reaching up tall.

And as they made their way to the garden district, located in the more north western area of the city, the buildings became more individually detailed, with balconies and bridges even built up through and over the tops of the buildings, adding privileged walkways for the rich to literally be able to walk over people.

The city was laid out so that the garden district sat adjacent to the Gold District, which contained the estates of the aristocrats as well as the palace and main government building. Upon entering the garden district, Miriel was struck with a feeling that this place was not exactly natural to the rest of the city. She emerged from a street nearly crowded with buildings and people to an open green space with large, old growth trees with hanging moss, and brightly colored plants that she was sure were not native to the region. Raised up from the city by a natural bank, the district benefited from a wonderful breeze. Birds chirped and gardeners mulled about but that was the extent of the noise.

“A couple of Viscounts ago, a Viscount wanted to impress his betrothed so much that he took over the older market district and turned it into a gigantic garden. This is that garden,” the Keeper explained. Miriel was stunned and from the amazed looks of her traveling companions, they were also in awe. It was stunning, breathtaking with all of the trees and flowers and strategically placed aqueducts.

They moved further into the district, moving northward and soon she saw the brightly colored sails of the Aravels beginning to peak out from behind the trees. How the clan managed to get them into the city was a mystery, but they were there, locked into each other to form one gigantic stationary ship.

“I have been thinking of proposing an extension of the garden district to take in more of the city elves, but I have spoken to them and they seem to have little to no interest in living in an aravel,” Deshanna chuckled and shook her head but Miriel knew that she was happy to even have to be considering such things.

Wycome was a city of triumph for all elves and they weren’t going to let it go any time soon.

“So instead of expanding this district, we are improving the slums and alienage, bringing them up to proper living codes.” Deshanna continued, pulling back a few fronds.

“I am looking forward to discussing all of that with you and the other council members,” Miriel said diplomatically but clearly uninterested in continuing on talking about such matters.

Deshanna turned back to the group and smiled mischievously before stepping into the wide clearing where the aravels were stationed.

“I am sure. But tonight, da’len, we celebrate,” and she stepped back, whistling some sort of cue –

Elves were suddenly leaping from the aravels, swinging down from the trees, running around with great swaths of fabric and little children running out to greet the group. Loud cheering was everywhere, shouting various greetings before every elf seemed to find their proper position.

“ANDARAN ATISH’AN! WELCOME HOME!” They shouted. Miriel grinned, Llana’s eyes went wide, and Vhenival began to cry.

_Home._

After their message had been sufficiently decried, the elves charged all of them. They all gasped in surprise as a large circle of people was formed around them. The largest group clustered around Miriel, peppering her with barely coherent questions in Antivan, in the clan speak, and Common. Her mind was blissfully frazzled as her family congressed around her.

A genuine smile spread across her face and she answered as many questions as she could. Children tugged at her hands and she picked a few up, hugging them close and marveling at how much they had grown.

“Go, children, prepare food and sleeping arrangements for our returning hunter. Give her some space, she is travel weary,” Deshanna waved off the majority of the clan to a loud disappointed chorus. The traveling group also fell into the rest of the clan, Rana once again reunited with her quartet of mamae friends and Theron with his papa friends. Dhavon and Llana were a bit more hesitant, opting to hang back a little back.

Miriel kissed the child in her arms then set him down, letting him run off with his friends. Only Lynnan, Vathoren, and Varas stayed. They smiled happily at her before Varas gave in and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in for a tight hug. She was much smaller than the impressively tall man, but she clung to him, burying her nose into his leathers.

“I missed you, little bird,” Varas said, petting her hair. Vathoren and Lynnan then joined in the hug.

“We all missed you,” Vathoren said. Lynnan was quiet but she leaned against Miriel happily.

**

They were served large helpings of the clan classics. There was a spiced halla milk drink that was consumed greedily, along with roasted hares and the traditional flat bread served with various spices mixed with crème and yogurts made from halla milk. It was delicious and nostalgic and just what they needed.

Patience and Determination glowered in the back of her mind but said nothing. She knew that they overall disapproved of her Dalish heritage and her embrace of it – but fuck them. And fuck Solas for disdaining her culture for so long.

Creators, she had missed this.

“I am glad to see that you kept the vines even when you have stripped your face,” Vathoren said, tearing a piece of the bread off and scooping up some of the stew.

“I would never take the vines away! I love them too much,” she replied, smiling.

“I thought you would never scorn your blood, and yet your face is bare,” Vathoren said quietly. Deshanna frowned at him.

“Says the man scorning the last of his blood by bonding himself to a person who cannot bear him children. Do not be so quick to judge, da’len – she has lived through much and seen more.” Deshanna repeated Miriel’s words, much to the younger elf’s surprise. Vathoren’s eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms over his chest.

“I believed you to be in support of the bonding, Keeper.”

“I am, but apparently you needed a reminder that no one is without a story someone else will judge and scorn.”

“You and Elsain were allowed to bond?” Miriel asked, grinning wildly, needing confirmation. The two had been together for so long, it would be wonderful for them to finally be together! She was sure the elders of the clan were probably up in arms about the arrangement, but thankfully, Deshanna was a more…progressive thinker than the elders.

Vathoren smiled and puffed his chest out, “Yes, we were. I even built us an aravel. I am eager for you to be bonded so I may spoil your children rotten. Varas and Lynnan are certainly not going to give me the opportunity,” Vathoren scoffed. Varas shrugged in response.

“If I find the right man, that could change. There are certainly enough city elf orphans we could take in.” Deshanna’s eyes widened and then she smiled broadly.

“You would give me grandchildren?” She asked eagerly. Varas again shrugged.

“I wouldn’t be against it. I want a partner, for certain, before I become a parent,” Varas said carefully. Miriel knew that preferring the same gender in the clans could get…complicated. Many clans were small and needed as many children for the future as possible. But the clans in general favored freedom. This then created a conflict of interest. In Lavellan, it was a bit less of an issue since the clan was already so large – it could afford Vathoren and Varas and their spouses to not have children. Those who did not prefer or fall in love with the opposite gender in smaller clans were less fortunate, and they often left their birth clans for the city or for a less restrictive clan.

“And why isn’t Lynnan giving us children?” Miriel asked, her tone light and not pressuring.

Lynnan sighed, “The…possession eleven years ago could have unknown consequences with my body for carrying a child. I am not going to risk that – I have come to terms with it. I can live a full life not having children, and besides,” she shrugs, “I am thoroughly uninterested in bonding or having a partner or any of…that.” Miriel nodded and smiled kindly at one of her oldest friends.

“Of course, I understand.” She took a bite of her food and then Varas wiggled his eyebrows and worked himself over to sit next to her.

“Sooo, there have been rumors, dear Miri.” He leaned in close to her and she leaned away, suspicious.

“Rumors of what?”

“Of a man of course! They say you never leave each other’s sides, and yet you are here alone…” as if just realizing that perhaps this wasn’t the best line of question, Varas trailed off and went quiet.

Everything was very quiet for a moment until finally Miriel sighed and stared straight into a fire.

“I…fell in love. With an amazing man who made me feel like I was flying on the back of a dragon. The others liked him too. Rana and Theron and even Dhavon approved once he got over everything. But…but then he left.” Her voice was low and soft, wavering slightly towards the end. She pursed her lips in an attempt to control herself.

Deshanna’s brow furrowed but it was Vathoren who spoke first, “Did he say why he left?”

Miriel shook her head, “No. He…ended our relationship, I killed Corypheus, and then he left.” She rubbed at her chest, feeling the pain rise once more.

“Was it serious?” Varas whispered.

She nodded, “There were talks of marriage, potentially children.” Varas wrapped his arm around Miriel and pulled her to his chest.

“A man who breaks your heart is not worthy of it, lethallan.” He murmured and Miriel almost snorted at the irony. She had told him this when Boranim had broken his heart.

“I feel I am tired from all the travel and excitement of the day, perhaps I could retire?” She asked, reverting back to her Inquisitor’s politeness.

Lynnan rose from her seat and walked over to Miriel, “Come, lethallan, you are staying in my aravel.” Miriel rose to goodbyes and good nights, heading towards Lynnan’s aravel. She had built it herself a few years after the raid that had killed Miriel’s father, not being able to stand living in the aravel her parents had been slaughtered in.

“Welcome home, Miriel,” Lynnan said, guiding Miriel into the ship. The land ships, as the humans called them, were not overly large things. They were curved like normal sea ships and beds were hung like hammocks from the mast and the supporting beams. The floor of the aravels were flat planks with a few hinged ones that led to storage in between the curved outward structure and the flat floor. Pillows and other trinkets covered the floor. Great swaths of fabric resembling sails were attached to panels that could be propped open.

Lynnan’s aravel was smaller than most, with only three available hammocks and limited floor space. But it was enough for Miriel as she climbed up into a hammock.

“Peaceful dreams, lethallan,” Lynnan whispered. Miriel took a deep breath and allowed her body to relax, falling quickly into the best sleep she had in weeks.

**

Miriel woke early as usual. She climbed down from the hammock and made her way out to a more secluded patch in the gardens. She slowly began her stretches and was halfway through them when she heard footsteps nearing her. Her legs came down and she raised herself to stand, finding Vathoren leaning against a tree.

“You aren’t with the others to stretch,” he said.

“I…I needed some time alone,” she said softly. Vathoren pushed himself off of the tree and walked over to her. He seemed…different she guessed. But then again, everything was different. His eyes no longer carried this loneliness that had plagued him for years before Miriel had left, and the bags under his eyes were smaller – his insomnia was improving, which was good. Elsain was good for him and Miriel couldn’t be happier for them.

“How things change. I bond before you, you go off to become a prophet for the humans…you save the world,” Vathoren chuckled, shaking his head. Miriel’s own smile did not quite reach her eyes but she felt the humorous irony in his statement. Nobody had ever thought Vathoren would bond and yet it had seemed a given that Miriel would be bonded by her twenty-sixth birthday. And yet…here they were.

“My face is bare, I am un-bonded, and the world owes me a debt it can never repay. It is strange, isn’t it? I feel so much…older. But it’s only been over a year.” She gasped, smiling at the almost ridiculousness at it all. Vathoren considered her for a long time, watching her movements, staring a little too much into her eyes.

“You were so full of life.”

“And now I am not?” She raised a hand playfully to the pulse in her neck and then shrugged.

“I feel perfectly alive to me.”

“No, that is not what I mean. I mean…you were connected with us. You practically flew through the woods, able to forget and leave all of your problems back at camp. Every day you would pester me about decorating your body only to flit away to chase some boar in the forest.” He gestured now to her.

“But you…are different now. You stand still and your eyes are sharper.”

“Did you think I was going to stay the same? Lethallin…have you heard nothing of things I have done? The things I have witnessed? I met our goddess, and she…she is not what we thought her to be. I am different, but that does not make me any less alive,” she countered, feeling ire and defense rise within her. Vathoren raised his hands in surrender.

“It is simply startling to see it, lethallan. Especially when you _look_ more like a child and yet act like an elder.”

She arched a brow at him before giggling madly, “Yes, I guess that’d be weird.” Vathoren shook his head at her but he was smiling.

“It’s good to see that some things don’t change. Still weird with that bare face of yours.” He said suggestively. She rolled her eyes at him and shrugged.

“I don’t know if I want them back, and I don’t think I would get Andruil’s again, what with the Well and everything.”

“So you rededicate yourself to Mythal.”

“But it just…wouldn’t feel the same. It wouldn’t mean the same. I am not the girl becoming a woman. I am a woman who…went through something. It’s different,” she paused, raising her face to look up at him, “I’m different.”

He watched her for a moment before moving to stand in front of her. He brushed her hair to the side and took in the full glory of her bare face.

Her own eyes in turn traced his own Vallaslin, sloping in dark blue lines over his cheeks, dots under his eyes. June suited him, would always suit him, as an artisan.

“What if it wasn’t Vallaslin? What if you did something else?” He suggested softly. She titled her head, thinking.

She didn’t exactly relish to have the needs back in her face to create another facial tattoo, but the desire to feel connected once more with her people…to try and feel happy again…. There was an undeniable desire there.

_Let go._

She was trying to find her happiness again.

“What did you have in mind?”

**

Vathoren prepared the needles and she sighed – this was going to be a long, _long_ day of pain. The sides of her head had been freshly shaved and prepped, the inks took a little longer, but they still managed to get them by midday.

He wiped her face again and took a deep breath.

“Do you think I should say anything?” He whispered.

“Uh, maybe bless the inks like a Keeper?” She suggested.

“Right, I’ll do that.”

He lifted her unmarked hand that had elfroot salve rubbed into it for numbing. He inspected it for a moment before lifting a very ceremonial looking knife and ran it across the palm. Blood surfaced and he held it over the ink, squeezing fat drops into the liquid.

“From this blood, we are born into adulthood, from this ink we find our place with the People,” he murmured and began to mix the two liquids, humming a hym to Andruil and then one to Mythal. He guided her back down to the mat as tears began to slip down her cheeks, but not in sorrow but in relief.

Connection. Whole.

The first touch of the needle in her back stung but it was a welcome pain. It scratched then went deeper into her cheek. She bit her tongue and began to recite all of the noble houses of Thedas to distract herself.

When she did this last, she went through all the names of the clan and then the halla, and then all the different trees she knew. This hopefully would not take as long as before – which had taken the entire day and required multiple breaks.

Thankfully, this work only required a few hours to be done and the sides of her head, above and around her ears, ached painfully but as she stared at the three arrows over her left ear and the winding tree branch over her right ear, she finally felt something like healing. And perhaps even happiness.

She was beginning down the path.

Connected. Heading towards whole.

“Ma serannas, lethallin,” she whispered and Vathoren smiled.

“De nada,” he replied and her heart sang.

Miriel of clan Lavellan was coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for being so patient with me! Things are not exactly finished, but this was, so I figured I should post it! Now the next update is not going to be for this particular story, it is its own tie-in story. I separated it because it doesn't deal with Miriel, and this story focuses on Miriel. But the tie-in will be important in the future, it will be called "Queen of the Stone" and it is about Elodie's search for the cure for the taint. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please comment, leave kudos, etc. 
> 
> Again, I love you guys, you're seriously the best. <3
> 
> One more thing! Bellanaris (Llana) in this chapter belongs to my wonderful friend, known here as fairylight and on tumblr as traubenuss. <3


	48. In Between, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter happens around the same time as my story, "Queen of the Stone"
> 
> Miriel returns from her clan to learn a painful truth about herself. A little NSFW

Katra woke up with the room spinning around her. Her stomach lurched and she pulled her body out of bed to fall at the waste basket, emptying her stomach of the meager breakfast she had been able to eat.

Dammit.

Again.

She fell against the floor and leaned her head against the cold stone. It was time to see the damn healers. This had been going on for a solid fucking week now and it was starting to get real old, real fast.

An hour later, she left for the healers’. The clinic was in wonderful proximity to the tavern and Katra had been there a few times before, issues ranging from a lyrium related sex injury to getting into a bar fight two weeks ago because some asshole had said she had grown fat.

Fuck them. She had always been fat and beautiful and kicking ass. So she kicked his ass.

Now she sat on one of the cots and waited patiently for the exam to finish.

“When was your last cycle?” The kind elderly woman asked. Katra was poised to answer with her typical, ‘Ah, about two and a half weeks ago’ only to realize that she couldn’t exactly remember….

“Oh fucking Maker,” she groaned, burying her head in her hands. The woman placed a hand on the champion, smiling warmly.

“We don’t know for certain, may I please examine you?”

The exam revealed only what Katra had suddenly realized earlier.

Pregnant.

There’s a baby in her womb.

Andraste’s tits.

“Is it fine? I’ve been drinking a bit, not as much as usual because my stomach has been so irritable, but still…” She asked, her hand already resting protectively over her abdomen.

“All preliminary tests reveal that the baby is fine and normal, but it would be wise to abstain as much as possible from alcohol. Magic use may also endanger the child, so please limit your use of it.”

“Are there any potions for morning sickness?” Katra asked softly, feeling all of a sudden very adult and very concerned.

As the woman continued to talk about the virtues of pregnancy and child rearing, Katra trailed a hand over her stomach. She was going to be a mother; she knew that much now. A baby…a small child to love and nurture.

An emotion she had never expected in the moment overwhelmed her: joy. Pure, unadulterated joy filled her body.

She had never thought she would be a mother, never thought she would be able to bear a child after her fight with the Arishok, and yet here she was…pregnant.

Her hands traversed the expanse of her stomach and she gave a small gasp as she finally felt the little flicker of life. Her child. She gasped and a tear slipped out of the corner of her eye.

“Is everything alright?” The woman asked and Katra nodded.

“Yes…yes, I am just…” she smiled, feeling herself grow more and more excited.

“I am going to be a mother.”

The exam finished quickly after that and Katra walked out of the building feeling suddenly weighted with wondrous responsibility. Visions of a small child running about her skirts and a babe suckling at her breast fluttered into her mind and she felt overcome.

She was going to be a mother.

Fenris was going to be a father.

Oh Maker, did he _want_ to be a father?

She caught the arm of a runner, “Find Fenris for me, please? And send him to my quarters?” She asked and the runner nodded. Good, now she could go and wash her mouth and face and prepare herself for whatever reaction he would have. Her hand remained firmly on her stomach, unwilling to detach from the littler spark of life nestled there.

Once Katra reached her rooms, she went straight for the wash. She rinsed her mouth and cleaned her face and stood over the basin in shock.

Katra Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, killer of the biggest and evilest spider to ever exist, a professional bull shitter, best friend to two of the most powerful women in Thedas, and now future mother. Mother.

The door to the rooms opened and closed and worry filled her. Fenris.

“Katra? Is everything alright? The runner said you looked alarmed,” he was saying as she stepped out of the wash room. His green eyes were wide and she took a moment just to appreciate how handsome looked. He had decided to grow his out hair, but he still didn’t quite know how to work with it. So now there was this long white halo of hair that moved a bit chaotically around his head. There was a cow-lick in the back that she liked to play with at night. Her heart clenched in worry, she hoped that she would still get to play with his hair after she gave him the news.

“I…went to the healers today,” she said carefully.

“Finally! I told you to go a week ago, and now they told you something is wrong and –

“I’m pregnant.” She blurted out. Well. That was not how she was planning it.

Fenris stopped moving. And perhaps breathing too, for a moment. His eyes trailed down to her stomach and he cocked his head to the side.

“And it is mine?” He asked quietly.

“Of course it’s yours, I haven’t been sleeping with anyone else! How could you think that? I am yours,” she took a step forward only to stop.

“I…you are having a child,” he stated, trying to process. She nodded yes and he exhaled loudly.

“You are having _my_ child,” he amended and she nodded again.

“I…I thought you couldn’t have children.”

“I thought so too but…I’m pregnant so I guess that we were wrong,” she picked at her fingers and he watched her carefully before stepping forward, his eyes glued to her stomach. He reached out as if to touch her and then retracted his hand.

“It…would be better to not have me as a father,” his voice was a soft and Katra stopped breathing. Her eyes shut and she felt a large pain in her chest.

“You are its father,” she whispered, trying to convince her self that convincing him to stay is the right thing…but dammit, is this not restricting him?

“A father who can kill someone with a single touch?” He replied, his tone unconvincingly biting. Katra’s eyes snapped open as realized that he didn’t want to leave because he didn’t want to be a father, but that he didn’t want to hurt his baby.

“Fenris…”

“The child would be better off without a father than a father like me – who cannot even touch it. Who would not be able to…I can’t…” she reached forward and took his hand in hers.

“Look, you are touching me, you touch me all the time without hurting me. Most of the time, I cannot even recall the last time your touch hurt. You are in control of it. You will not hurt the baby,” her voice is firm but kind. He was afraid when he didn’t need to be and dammit, she was not just going to let the father of her child go due to fear.

“What if I lose control? I…I could not hurt our child, Katra, I _can’t_ ,” his voice wavered and her heart softened. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down so that he was leaning against her.

“You won’t. Listen to yourself, you’re worried about a baby that isn’t even born yet. Fenris…please don’t leave,” _not again, please don’t leave_ me _again. Don’t let something that should be so good_

“It is not my desire,” he confessed, nuzzling into her neck.

“Then don’t go. Be a father, have this baby with me.” He kissed her neck once, twice, and the third turned into an open mouthed love bite. She gasped and he growled.

“Can we have sex now that you’re pregnant?”

“Oh _fuck_ yes.” She had double checked.

**

“That is Skyhold,” Miriel told Varas as they began to cross the large bridge.

“Ah! The great grey blob of legend!” He said excitedly. She rolled her eyes but also kicking herself for once again forgetting that Varas could barely see anything.

“Ir abelas,” she replied. He shrugged it off and leaned forward, resting his head on Miriel’s shoulder. He was riding behind her since the other hart was laden with their things. Neither of them minded his spot, and she found it vaguely comforting to have him so close. Creators, she had missed him – the entire clan really. Going and spending two weeks there had been absolutely wonderful – just what the healers had ordered. She felt rejuvenated and ready to tackle Inquisitorial duties.

Her scalp ached somewhat still from the tattoo, but she reveled in the pain. It reminded her of where she came from, no matter what the voices in her head said. Varas could hardly see the tattoo but he and the rest of the clan had been delighted to find that she was reconnecting herself to the Dalish. Her accent had returned within days of being with her clan and she had slipped easily and without anxiety into the clan speak.

She spent time chasing children, climbing trees, and remembering what it meant to be _of_ a clan. At one point, she fell asleep in a pile with Varas and a couple of the other hunters…just like she had done before leaving for the Conclave.

Her name was again Miri. Her hair was a wild tangled mess and her skin had darkened from all of the summer sun while her hair had lightened. The Dalish leathers and cloths felt comfortable on her body, wonderfully familiar and smelling of the warm hands that crafted then and halla.

Varas’s arms were a comfort around her body, and he smelled unabashedly Dalish. He had teased her mercilessly at first when she had kept burying her face into his chest, neck, and hair, just needing to smell home again.

They rode quickly into the hold, hopping off the hart and handing the nearby stable the reins. Varas’s feet dug into the grass, feeling it, probing it carefully with his toes. He cocked his head to the side and shrugged.

“Figures the grass would be different here,” his ears twitched and he turned his head every now and then, listening to the sounds of the keep, figuring them out.

“Yeah, it’s different down here. The snow gets past your knees in the winter.”

“Really? Ugh, I hate the cold.”

“Then why did you come?”

“I…needed to go. There wasn’t anything there for me anymore,” his voice was soft, turning his head away from Miriel to listen to the approaching footsteps. Miriel turned to see a runner. Figures. She supposed her little reprieve from being the inquisitor was over.

The runner jogged over, “The advisers would like to see you in the War Room, Lady Inquisitor. Messere Lavellan,” the runner bowed and then promptly ran off to finish his duties. Miriel sighed and turned to Varas.

“I can have someone give you the tour or you could explore it for yourself, but…duty calls,” she had hoped to give Varas the grand tour, linger a little bit longer in her clan speaking tongue. Varas shrugged and moved sinuously through the stable.

“I can find my way, and if not…well getting lost is half the fun,” he turned back to her with a broad smile and she supposed he was right. As the Keeper said, it’s about the journey and not the destination.

**

The War meeting was actually…rather entertaining. With the addition of Zevran to the advisers, the only person in the room who wasn’t fluent in Antivan was Cullen. Even Cassandra knew some Antivan from her days as a noble. Josie and Zevran slipped into Antivan rather quickly which had Miriel answering them in Antivan. Cassandra rolled her eyes every now and then but she even chipped in with her heavily accented Antivan.

But poor Cullen. He sat on the sidelines, standing ramrod straight with a frown on his face.

“Maker, could we stick to Common?” He asked when the room was suddenly filled with laughter after Zevran told a rather amusing joke.

“Oh, sorry Cullen!” Miriel giggled.

They mostly stuck to Common for the remainder of the meeting, only occasionally slipping into Antivan. After the meeting, Zevran approached Miriel, clearly intrigued.

“Where did you learn to speak Antivan so beautifully?” He asked and she grinned.

“My mother was Antivan actually, that and the clan wandered up into southern Antiva a bit. Everyone in the clan learns it.” She answered. Zevran beamed and she…blushed. Her eyes widened at herself, as if she didn’t know she could blush for anyone but Solas.

And perhaps she didn’t.

“What a marvelous coincidence! Did you ever visit Antiva City?” He asked and she chuckled at his enthusiasm. It was cute.

…

Cute?

Her eyes slid over to him and she felt wariness trickle into her. She…well, yes, Zevran was very attractive, anyone could see that. His straight nose, his flawless skin, beautiful hair, and he had the added benefit of having a wonderfully familiar accent and way about him. Like home…but not.

She smiled back at him and her gaze went to the floor, “I never visited, no, but that’s where my mother was from. And my father met her there.” Her eyes flitted up to his and she felt an unsettling amount of butterflies in her stomach.

Her mouth grew tight as Zevran’s face slowly turned into Solas’s. They were standing in Haven or sitting in a tent in the Fallow Mire, joking and laughing while she blushed and tried to make him blush in return.

She needed a drink.

His face lit up and her stomach churned sickeningly with the butterflies. “And what do you think of Antiva?”

“The flower fields are incredible, some of my happiest memories are from when we would wander up into Antiva and my mother would take my sister and I to the flower fields to play.” She answered honestly. They were making their steady way to the tavern, for which she was grateful. If she was going to continue with this conversation and the…uncomfortable and poorly timed butterflies.

“The south of Antiva is rather beautiful, but you have not properly experienced Antiva until you have seen Antiva City.”

“It’s a city, its beauty cannot compare to that of nature,” she answered, quickening her pace to the tavern. It wasn’t like she didn’t want to talk to Zevran, just that…well, ask the damn butterflies.

Zevran clicked his tongue and shook his head, blonde hair falling entirely too nicely in his face. _Nope, nope, not going there._

“Oh but that is where you are wrong, my friend. Antiva City is unlike any other,” he was saying as they entered Herald’s Rest. She signaled the barkeep and he set to work pouring her usual.

“Of course, and I am sure you would love to show me all the ins and outs of the city,” they sat at the bar. Zevran nodded at the dwarf behind the bar, smiling entirely too smoothly. He turned back to Miriel and she just about blushed again. His eyes were warm and intense, possessing an openness she hadn’t encountered in a long time.

“Unfortunately not. The Crows would not take kindly to me returning to their city.” The barkeep pushed their drinks towards them and she eyes the red in Zevran’s goblet.

“Let me guess, Antivan red?” She asked and he laughed.

“Of course. Just like yours,” he took a large sip from his wine and she arched a brow at him before drinking her own. Alright, fine. He guessed her wine right, good for him.

“I don’t understand why the Crows continue to pursue you after all these years. You kill everyone who tries to come after you, or humiliate them in such way that they don’t ever want to get near you again.” Getting to know him was responsible, he was her spymaster after all, neglecting to find everything out about him as possible was part of her inquisitorial duties. A responsibility.

He turned towards her and leaned back slightly, elongating his neck a bit. She sipped her wine. Responsibility. Duty.

Right.

“It is the principle of the thing, I suppose. They cannot have it go unsaid that they ever gave up on capturing someone who left the Crows.” He was unabashedly cocky about the whole thing. Smirking and arching a brow. She frowned playfully at him and turned back to her wine.

A bar stool moved next to her and she looked up to see Varas folding his tall, lanky frame onto the stool. He cocked his head to the side and turned so that he would be able to hear Zevran better.

“They stopped chasing Miriel’s mother,” he said nonchalantly. Wait, what?

“My mother wasn’t a Crow, she was a concubine. Father rescued her from servitude to a vile merchant prince,” Miriel said. It was a classic story – dashing Dalish hunter travels to the city with a few friends to celebrate his friend’s impending engagement, meets beautiful city elf. Saves said beautiful city elf from a life of disgusting servitude to a shem lord.

But Varas was shaking his head, “I heard Mamae, er, The Keeper, talking about it one night. Apparently your mother was a Crow hired to assassinate the Merchant Prince Sercio and met your father instead. He messed up the assassination and then Crows hunted her down in attempt to punish her for her perceived ineptitude. He helped faked her death and then they fled back to the clan. She changed her name to Esethen and that was that.” He made a vague gesture to the barkeep for food and wine. Miriel’s eyes widened and she stared at Varas, mouth ajar.

What?

“Wait a minute, is your mother _Esaria_? Of House Talios? Most people don’t even believe she existed!”

“That was her name before the clan…. she took a new one when she got her Vallaslin…” Miriel murmured, at a loss. Her mother…the seemingly delicate and beautiful woman who died in childbirth had been a _Crow?_

Zevran laughed and smacked Miriel on the back in camaraderie, “That is amazing! She was an inspiration for many of the elven lads who wished to escape the grip of the Crows.” He continued, taking a sip from his wine. Miriel’s brow furrowed and she looked over to him. He was smiling, but there were lines drawn around his face and she wondered if he was one of the elven lads who were so inspired to leave…and what the Crows did about it.

“It is no surprise then that you became Inquisitor. Ah, if only the Crows knew that Esaria yet lived,” he laughed into his cup and she looked quietly at hers.

“She doesn’t. She passed away after giving birth to my younger sister,” she sipped her wine as silence filled the bar.

“Ah, it seems that none of us can outrun death, even legends,” he sipped his wine and turned to her, laying a comforting hand on her arm.

“As it is, I am sorry for your loss. She sounds like she was a remarkable woman.” That was one way of putting it. Esethen Lavellan had been a wonderful mother, doting and loving, but as stubborn as the day was long.

“She was the mamae that all the kids wanted because she insisted on celebrating Satinalia in the Antivan fashion,” Varas interjected, leading to Zevran’s loud and infectious laughter. Miriel found herself smiling at his free expression. She blushed and wondered at herself, confused at the continued hammering in her chest and the flutter in her stomach.

_This isn’t right._ She told herself.

_And why not? He is attractive enough, kind – he speaks your language._ Patience asked.

_Speaking one’s own language is not enough to…consider things! And I am only just out of a very serious relationship._ She argued right back, watching as Varas grinned mischievously at Zevran, or in Zevran’s general direction.

_Some would argue that this is exactly what you need._ Determination chipped in. Miriel frowned and turned back to her wine. Why was it now that they decided to chime in?

_It was exceptionally boring staying inside that Well for all those ages. Intrigue is well…intriguing._ Patience explained and while she supposed it made sense she still didn’t like it.

The door to Herald’s Rest suddenly banged open and a familiar redhead strode triumphantly into the room. She looked around her and smiled.

“I am pregnant!” She declared, her chest puffed out in pride, hands on her hips. The entire tavern erupted in cheers for the champion while Miriel dashed over to the woman. She wrapped her arms around Katra, screeching in happiness.

“That is amazing news!” She laughed, pulling back to look down at Katra’s stomach.

“Isn’t it? Fenris and I…we’re going to be parents! And you’re going to be an aunt!”

The next several hours were spent in happy, alcohol free revelry of the budding life in Katra’s womb. Laughter and even tears abounded as Katra expressed the joy she was feeling at being so blessed with a child. Her arm remained almost always wrapped around her stomach, her hand rubbing at times at where her womb lied beneath.

Miriel was happy for dear friend, truly, unabashedly happy. But as she watched Fenris enter the tavern and wrap his arms protectively around Katra, pulling her against him in a rare public display of affection, a pain stung in Miriel’s chest. She excused herself from the table and walked back to the bar, passing Varas sitting in a qunari’s lap, to where Zevran was still seated.

She signaled the barkeep for another wine and Zevran looked over to her.

“Their happiness is exhausting, no?”

“What? Oh, no it’s not that, it’s…” she pursed her lips struggled to find the words. She looked around at the tavern, seeing Fenris with his arms around Katra. Varas’s hands were currently tugging on the qunari’s horns, pulling the man down for a very lewd and barely publicly decent kiss. Bull and Dorian were currently sequestered in their own little corner, mostly concealed by shadows, but she could see Bull’s hug smile as he watched the Tevinter. Cullen sat at Katra’s table, a very happy looking Olivia sat in his lap with her head on his shoulder. Even Varric was with someone at Katra’s table. Talya Cadash sat suspiciously close to Varric and she would occasionally look over at the older dwarf with eyes the size of saucers.

“When did _that_ happen?” She asked as her wine arrived.

“Varric and Talya? Surprisingly quick, actually. She apparently was the right kind of trouble for him to get involved in. He started helping pay off her debts. I walked in on her kissing him a couple weeks ago.”

“I am glad he’s happy…but wasn’t he with Bianca?”

“Yes…but from what I understand, Katra ran her off, helped Varric realized he deserved more substantial happiness.”

“Katra would.”

“And she did. Was a very entertaining show. And do not think I don’t know what you did,” he said, turning so that he could lean against the bar with her.

“And what did I do?”

“Avoided the question, naturally. I commend you, it was an admirable effort but you have yet to master the art.”

“Oh? So there is an art to avoiding the question?” She asked, feeling the earlier uneasiness begin to fall away. She was smirking, her eyes flashing with barely restrained amusement. Zevran returned the look with a leer of his own.

“Of course, an art that you are currently performing, quite admirably at that.” He moved closer to her. She was about to scoot away when she stopped herself. No, she was enjoying herself and she hadn’t enjoyed herself like this in far too long.

So she smirks and bites her lip, quirking her brow just ever so slightly, “And is that all that is admirable about me?” Zevran laughed low in his throat and leaned forward so that only she heard his sinful voice.

“If you wish me to compliment you, mia cara, you need only ask.” His hot breath fanned over her ear and she blushed. Oh she needed way more alcohol to be handle this.

And acquire more alcohol she did, up until she was practically sitting in Zevran’s lap with him muttering sinful compliments into her ear. They had switched over to Antivan rather quickly, the language flowing so easily between them. Her heart had migrated south and a heat bloomed  low in her belly. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and her head lolled so that Zevran’s breath fanned over her neck.

“ _I wonder how your beautiful legs would feel around my head while I pleasure you with my mouth_ ,” he nipped at her earlobe and she practically purred in response. When he released her ear she turned to him, eyes heated to a molten gold.

“ _Would you like to find out_?” Her voice was barely more than a purr and he replied with a growl, taking her hand and leading her out of the tavern. They practically ran up the stairs to the great hall, slamming close the door leading to the stairs that went to her private rooms. Apparently it was taking too long for Zevran as he pressed Miriel against the wall and eagerly pressed his lips to hers. She gasped, excitement and…some other emotion she couldn’t place flooding her system.

Oh. They were doing this. They were actually doing this. Alright. Right. She could do this. Sex, it was just sex. She had never done the just sex thing before, but she could do it. Look at how well the serious relationship before sex turned out. She practically ran away from Dhavon and Solas…. The magic in her hand flared a bit at his memory but she pushed it away.

“ _I cannot wait to feel that hand my cock,_ ” Zevran was saying in between love bites on her neck. She closed her eyes, not entirely sure if it was from the pleasure or the sudden overwhelming indecision welling within her.

_Just sex, just sex. I can do this. I_ can _do this._ She told herself.

_There is no shame in saying no, da’len._ Patience whispered kindly. Determination snorted and was about to say something, but there was a surge of magic and she was suddenly silenced.

_Da’len, Solas was the love of your life, if you need time, no one will begrudge you. Zevran will understand, and if he doesn’t, he does not deserve the honor to love your body._

Zevran kissed her mouth again, hands roaming to cup her breasts and it was too much. She, in fact, could _not_ do this.

“Zevran…” she murmured against his mouth, gently pushing at his arms. He pulled back, his eyes knowing in the low light. He brought a hand up to her face and sighed.

“Ah, I see. I am sorry if I pressed too eagerly,” he stepped back but remained close, just…friendlier somehow, less sexual but just as intimate. Her heart swelled and her eyes prickled. No, oh no.

“No, no, you were great. It’s…I…I’m a mess,” she closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, covering her face with a tattooed hand.

“I can’t…I just…I kiss you and all I can feel are the ghost of his lips. And I want to feel the real thing, and you’re great but I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” her babbling turned incoherent as tears began to spill from her eyes. Zevran’s hand moved so that he brought her forward to lean against his chest. His arms came around her as she cried.

“Shhhh, I’ve got you,” he murmured over and over again, cradling her head against his chest.

He eventually moved his hands so that he swept her up into his arms and began carrying her up the stairs.

“I-I’m sor-r-ry,” she cried.

“No, no, it is quite alright,” he told her as he cradled her like a damn baby.

_This is humiliating._

_Let the good man take care of you, da’len._ Patience murmured gently. Hmph.

_…Fine._

Zevran brought her to her rooms and laid her gently onto her bed. He kissed her cheek and ran a hand through her hand again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked softly and she shook her head.

“Not really. I loved him and I thought he loved me. Then he left. It’s…really not that exciting, actually.” It was woefully mundane, and while it left her bereft and spontaneously breaking down in tears, the whole thing was remarkably plain. They had met, fell in love so seriously that she had been planning to ask him to marry her, only to have him steal her face and break her heart…then he left.

Zevran’s eyes softened and he let out a deep breath.

“I admittedly knew, I thought…well, sometimes sex can help with these things. Some people need it even, I suppose I wanted you to be one of those people,” he sat down next to her and she gave a soft sob.

“I’m sorry I’m not one of those people. You’re really attractive and kind and I want to, Creators, _want to_. But…”

“You cannot because you are not one of those people, and I do not fault you for that. I am sorry you had to discover that you not this way, however. It was not my intention to cause you pain.” She sniffled and leaned into his hand. Her eyes flickered up to his and she tried to smile.

“Ma serannas, lethallin.” She whispered. His smile was small but understanding as he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

“You should sleep, dear Inquisitor. I have heard rumors of discussions of the deep roads for tomorrow’s meeting,” his tone lightened a bit and she attempted a laugh.

“Oh-oh no.” He petted her hair one more time before smiling and wishing her a good night. She watched him go before falling against the cushions. Her bed was too big for her, the sheets were meant to cover more than one person and to even accommodate one of the people being a bit of a blanket hog.

The sheets no longer smelled like him.

Miriel hiccupped and tried to compose herself. This was the alcohol and…Zevran. She was recovering. She was. She was getting over it, getting through it. It was going to be fine. She was going to be fine.

But ‘going to be’ failed to mention that right now she felt like a complete mess.

She eventually fell asleep, her body worn and tired from travel and the inordinate amount of alcohol she had consumed. Her mind wandered and she found herself on a cliff overlooking the sea. Her head tilted back, letting herself relax into the wind whipping into her hair. The sea air soaked into her and she felt something close to peace.

“Vhenan,” she gasped and turned around at the sound of his voice. Her eyes widened at the sight of him standing just a few meters away.

“So…Solas?” She whispered, disbelieving. But he smiled and took a step forward…then another and another until he was standing in front of her.

“I should not have left,” he told her and she shook her head.

“No, you shouldn’t have. I…I could have helped you with whatever it was that you needed help with and I could have loved you and supported you and –

“Shhh,” he whispered, taking another step closer to her. His hand reached out and trailed a finger down her cheek.

Oh.

Her eyes fell and she turned away from him. Or rather, _it._

“These jokes are cruel, demon,” she muttered, turning back to the sea. Her arms wrapped around herself as she tried to compose herself.

“How are they cruel if I ask nothing in return, vhenan? What is an escape for an hour or two?” It reached forward with his hands, and his voice, stroking her hair and heartstrings.

“Please,” she murmured, her heart aching so badly she thought to rip it from her chest.

“Vhenan.”

“I am NOT YOUR VHENAN!” She screamed, whirling back to the creature, fury clear in her face.

“I am NOT your prey! I am a broken-hearted all powerful bitch who has slain more demons than she can count! Now go the _fuck_ away!” There were no tears as she growled at the demon who dared to wear his face. She straightened her back and hardened her face, allowing the anchor in her hand to flare. The demon arched a brow and smiled before allowing its mask to slip.

Suddenly a very purple, large horned demon stood before her leering at her. They could have towered over her, but they leaned back, a wicked glint their eye.

“You are a clever one. Rarely do I find someone who can see through my mask so quickly.” Desire stalked closer but she remained rooted to her spot.

“Really? I would say you were hardly trying,” she bit back.

“Oh a feisty one. How interesting,” the demon purred as they stalked around her.

“What do you want, demon?”

“Oh, I would much rather know what you want, dear Miriel.” Their voice was deep and sinful, almost a spell in itself, lulling her into a warm complacency where yes, she wanted to tell it everything she wanted.

Uh. No.

“What I want is irrelevant. And private. This is my dream and you an intruder. What are you doing?” She asked, trying to keep as much inflection out of her voice as possible.

Desire sighed and reached forward to absently twirl an end of Miriel’s hair.

“I am here because I was beset by the desire to know who you are.”

“Well, here I am. This is me. Now kindly leave,” Miriel gritted. Desire simply laughed but they backed away, an odd glimmer in their eyes.

“Oh you are a fun one, no wonder he’s so enraptured.” Miriel took a step back at their words. What? Did they…did they know Solas?

They chuckled darkly and stretched languidly, “Ah yes, I do know the one you know as Solas. Quite the man, isn’t he? He has many friends.”

“And what, you’re one of them?” She asked, though she would not be surprised to find that he was indeed friends with this…creature. They felt old and powerful and not exactly predatory – more curious and interested than anything. Perhaps not a demon but a spirit? Could there be a spirit of desire? A less…selfish force and more inquisitive and seeking to please creature?

“Friends? If he so wishes it, I would not rebuke such a connection.”

“Lofty words for a creature of base needs.”

“Base? Oh dear Miriel, desire is _anything_ but base. You have much to learn, little bird,” the spirit purred before turning away from Miriel. They walked slowly and calmly away, leaving Miriel standing on the edge of the cliff, confused and a fair bit alarmed.

“I am sure we will see each other again, Miriel. Until then…try to follow your desire a bit, giving in isn’t always bad.” They raised a clawed hand in a wave goodbye as their form waivered and disappeared in a haze of purple smoke.

What the fuck?

**

Desire walked, shifting the Fade around them to suit their needs. A long pathway formed at their feet and they conjured a vest as a more feminine form took over their wiles. As much as they enjoyed tempting the Dread Wolf, they did not think it would go over too well in his current state. No matter. They kept their breasts small, and didn’t allow their hips to flare as much as they wished to. Sometimes one had to repress one’s owns desires to another’s.

The Fade continued to move around them until they sauntered happily into his dream. A large castle of stone and crystal stood before them, wrapped around a tree as gigantic as any mountain. It seemed the Dread Wolf was well and home within his own mind.

With a flick of a bangle clad wrist they let themselves be drawn to the room containing Solas. A long sigh escaped them as they crossed their arms over their chest. Of course he was meditating while he dreamed. What else would he do?

“Knock, knock, anyone home?” They asked drolly.

“Yes,” came the monotone reply. They pursed their lips and leaned in close to his ear.

“I don’t believe you,” they whispered. He sighed and lowered his poised arms to move away before turning to Desire.

“Is there something you wish?” He asked. Desire laughed and fell back, materializing a couch to catch them.

“Of course, but your desires are so much more satisfying.” They smirked, cocking their head to the side as they watched the wolf frown.

“I have but one desire, and it is not one you can fulfill,” oh? Such a flat, rehearsed voice! They bristled and then leaned forward, their shape slowly morphing into his vhenan.

“Oh Solas, you can lie to me, but do not lie to yourself. It is rather unbecoming,” as the transformation completed, they raised their chin and gave him a demure look.

“What would I think?” Her accent felt delightful on their tongue, thick and rolling but also lilting. Light, but delicious. Like a savory sweet that left you craving more, even after a feast.

“I do not have time nor the desire for these games, Desire.” Solas turned his back to Desire and they sighed.

“Solas, when are you going to be honest with yourself? Leaving me wasn’t the only option, especially not the only option for what you want. And not what that woman says you want, but what you actually desire.” They chastised. Solas turned back to them with a huff.

“Do not speak to me about what I want. I did what I had to.”

“You did what you believed you had to do, and now you regret it. Really, you should have called for me sooner, I could have saved you a world of heartbreak,” they reclined back, inspecting their hands. Miriel had nice hands, calloused and a bit rough but well proportioned – groomed well, clearly taken care of.

“I did not call you here for me,” he said quietly.

“Oh? And for whom did you call me for?” Delightful intrigue! A Desire spirit could really be for so many things, what could he possibly have planned?

Solas took a deep breath and swept a hand across a wall, displaying the sleeping form of a young elven girl. Desire cocked their head to the side.

“So young, are you sure you want _me_ near her?” Was his judgement that much impaired? They were barely straddling the line between being a spirit and a demon as it was – but put a tasty little mortal mage in their path? They were certain that a fully demonic form of themselves wouldn’t even have the decency to regret the carnage they would inflict upon that poor girl.

“She needs protection, and I can no longer provide that for her.”

“So…you want a nearly demonic spirit of Desire to hang around a young impressionable mage to protect to her from demons? How exactly is this a good idea?”

Solas was quiet for a long time before turning to them once again.

“Because I trust you.” Their eyebrows went up at that.

“Well then you’re more of an idiot than I thought.” They laughed. Really, them? Trustworthy? After all the shit Solas had seen? Shouldn’t he know better.

But then the Dread Wolf smiled that damn smile that made them support the Great Hellathen in the first place.

“Or should I say, I trust you desire to not harm innocent children.” They narrowed their eyes at him and hissed.

“Fool wolf.”

“Good natured Desire.”

“How dare you.”

There was a pause and then they sighed. Alright. Sure. They liked kids. But that was privileged information on a need to know basis. And going around protecting some fledgling mage in the Fade was not adhering to that.

“You’re an ass.” They said before falling back on the couch.

“Will you help?”

“I should bill you for every time you ask me to help you. An admission of desire for an assist.” It was a fair trade in their mind, Solas’s admissions were always so wonderfully…delicious.

They pulled themselves up and towards Solas, still wearing Miriel’s skin.

“Just one admission, vhenan, and then I am all yours,” they purred, moving to place their hands on his chest.

Solas’s hand shot up and grabbed the hair at the nape of their neck angling their face up to his.

“Do not take her form ever again,” he said, voice low and dark. Desire grinned and dropped their hands. Solas released them and they allowed their form to melt into a nicer, less confusing one for him.

“Very nice, though you could stand to work on your manners. Or do you prefer the whole rude master thing?”

“Desire.”

“Fine. I get it. You’re a private man with private wants for your private parts, but listen – lying to yourself is unhealthy. If you can’t admit it to me, at least admit it to yourself. You’re fucking miserable without her. And you clearly aren’t getting over her, sending me to hit that guy up with some scary shit and now sending me to protect her sister? Solas, my man, my pal, my _lord,_ you love her and are unwilling to let her or any part of her go. How do you plan to allow her world to be ripped a part if –

“Desire, that is enough! I can’t…will you help or not?” The pain was surprisingly clear on his face and Desire sighed. Pain was not their end goal.

They sauntered forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I apparently have to go watch over a mage try to cast a barrier spell around sucking their thumb.” They waved their hand again and disappeared in search of the young mage Solas had sent them to.

Really, what was he doing? Using their immense talents and power to watch one little mage?

The Fade flickered around them until it solidified into a vast field. In it stood the small mage girl and a spirit of Wisdom beside her. Desire inhaled and allowed their own power to assess hers.

Their eyes snapped open.

Oh.

_Oh._

**

When Desire left, Solas sighed and allowed his dream to return to its original state. A memory of a morning spent in Skyhold with him wrapped around her in a warm, affectionate embrace.

_You’re fucking miserable without her._

_Lying to yourself is unhealthy._

_Just one little admission._

Solas took a deep breath and closed his eyes, the words tumbling unrestrained from his lips.

“I miss her.”

**

Miriel woke with a headache and puffy eyes. She sighed as she pulled her body out bed and began to stretch. Sleep slowly leeched out of her body and embarrassment began to crawl through her.

Mythal’enaste, what had she done?

_Drank excessively and almost had a sexual encounter with your spymaster…then you cried on him._ Determination supplied. Miriel groaned and exited her stretching, walking to her wash basin. She scrubbed her face as if she could wash away the night.

She hoped not too many people saw her throwing herself at Zevran. She prayed that no one had heard her sobbing pathetically after he had kissed her so sweetly. Her heart clenched at the memory and she flinched.

Today was not going to be a good day.

She left her quarters, eyes still a bit red from the night, but otherwise looking the part of the Inquisitor. She took her usual breakfast in the kitchen, rubbing a very hungover, very sore Varas on the back as he nibbled a soft piece of bread.

“The qunari…who knew…”

“Oh well, anybody could’ve told you _that_ ,” she said lightly before hopping back out to head to the War Room. The meeting was much more serious and dire than yesterday’s. There were earthquakes, _big_ ones, emanating from a place not too far off the Stormcoast. A great fissure had formed as a result and the dwarves of Orzammar were requesting aid.

So the rumors Zevran had heard had been true – she was going to the Deep Roads. Miriel took a deep breath and nodded. She could do this. This was inquisitorial business, nothing having to do with the heart and its trappings – _this_ she knew she could handle.

The meeting ended just past midday, just in time for her to be hungry again. She ran a hand through her hair and turned to head for the kitchens when Zevran stopped her.

“Inquisitor, may I have a moment?” He asked and her heart stopped. Did he want a better explanation of what happened? Would she have to tell him exactly how much Solas meant to her? And how she felt like she had meant little to him? How her heart was only barely healed even after trying to stitch it back together with time with her clan?

The others left the room, leaving Zevran and her alone. A pregnant pause filled the space until Zevran sighed and leaned against the wall.

“Are you feeling well this morning?” Of all the things to ask, she was not expecting that one.

“I…am a little hungover, in many aspects. And you?” Her voice was smooth and her back straight. He watched her closely before a smile spread across his face.

“Impressed, actually. You handle your distress very well, your mask is almost perfect, Inquisitor. Well done,” he clapped her on the shoulder before leaning in close.

“I will tell no one of what transpired last night. We are all due our moments, especially those who save the world from certain doom.” And with that Zevran opened the door to leave the room. Varas suddenly bounded in, smiling at her. What was he doing here?

“I heard you’re heading to the Deep Roads!” He said excitedly.

“Yes?”

“Well, it’s dark down there, right? You should have someone with experience not seeing help guide you through it, I can’t imagine it will be lighted the entire time.” His smile was broad, eyes watching something past her shoulders. Miriel smiled at him and took his hand.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shuffles around* It's been awhile, yeah? Sorry, I want to update more frequently but alas, LIFE. If you follow me on tumblr, you'll see I HAVE been writing, just...not this. I want to finish this story, I do! And I am hoping that after I graduate I can dedicate time to actually think plots through and work on them. Thank you for your patience! Please leave kudos, comments, bookmark - let me know what you think!


	49. In Between, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are changing, the world is shifting. Katra's due date comes and goes, Maren meets an interesting person, Elodie gives Miriel advice, and Miriel executes judgement.

Two months passed before Miriel returned from the Deep Roads. Disgusting, filthy, and confused. Titans. Large as continents. Sentient and full of lyrium, or rather…they were lyrium? None of it made much sense. She was happy to have resolved the issues of the earth quakes but she feared for Valta and what the woman now was.

What _was_ she exactly?

Dorian tossed around suppositions that she was now in fact a dwarven mage. But Miriel shook her head, that…seemed wrong.

_Not a mage, no. She did not warp the Fade to her will._ Determination sneered.

_Something else, yes, but her power is unquestionable._ Patience continued.

Miriel searched her mind for answers but nothing turned up, or at least, nothing she could understand. It was incredibly frustrating having all of this wisdom and power seemingly at her fingertips only to have it either be indecipherable or just plain inaccessible because the keepers of the information didn’t want her knowing too much.

_What evidence do you have of this?_ Determination demanded.

_Oh so you telling me ‘Not to worry about it’ and then shuffling around something in my head isn’t evidence that you’re keeping things from me?_

_Very good, da’len!_

_Stop praising her!_

_She noticed your schemes, lethallan, she deserves praise._

They continued to bicker in her head for a few more minutes until she couldn’t focus and asked them to be quiet. They settled into a mostly peaceful silence with the occasional quip.

They arrived back at Skyhold just as the sun was setting, their battered bodies sore from fighting and travel. Varas was slumped against her back, trying and failing to stay awake.

“Lethallan? Is it always this tiring?” He asked blearily.

“Yes. Usually I am not so bruised but…well, Solas isn’t here.”

“I did the best I could!” Dorian huffed.

“That wasn’t…Solas and I got used to how we fought, we were in synch and we would just…it was like a dance and we knew the steps so well.” Varas’s arms tightened around her in support and she leaned back into him, grateful that he was here.

Dorian went silent and Bull sighed. He brought his large War Nug over to Dorian’s steed, reaching out to lay a large hand on the mage’s arm. He was there, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

A week passed before word arrived – Dorian was going back to Tevinter to try and repair things with his father and to make a difference in Tevinter. Bull took the Chargers with him to escort the Vint back to the border.

Maren, Ileth, Tonlen, and Vivienne left for Monstimmard to begin rebuilding what was left of the Circle, despite Miriel’s grumbling about the now independent College. Maren was…not entirely for the idea but Vivienne was working on her. Vivienne was still not fully comfortable with Maren socializing with spirits but there was little she could do when Maren was dreaming. They were attempting to compromise at least…or perhaps it was just neither of them were willing to budge.

With the young mages gone, the lingering members of clan Lavellan in Skyhold began to get antsy. They all wished to return home and Miriel would not keep them. They shipped off a week after Maren and the boys left.

Miriel began to measure the time passed by Katra’s ever expanding stomach. The tail-end of the first trimester was spent with Miriel speaking with architects and stoneworkers to begin expanding Skyhold. Similar structures used in the Frostback basin were to be used, constructing a surrounding city of treehouses and ramps.

The remaining Dalish who were not Lavellan were ecstatic at the new construction and Miriel had to agree – it was amazing.

The construction became Miriel’s biggest project, though she still dedicated some resources to finding Solas. He was out there, somewhere, and she still wanted answers. She was doing as Katra said and wasn’t giving up hope, even if her dreams were quiet.

More months passed. Miriel worked.

When Katra was beginning her final trimester, word from Denerim came: Elodie was to be wed to Alistiar two months after Katra’s baby was born.

“That’s fucking fantastic,” Katra muttered, her hand fluttering to stomach as Miriel read the letter aloud.

“It really is! And so considerate of them to give everyone time to schedule it in and everything, I know how eager they are to marry.” Miriel replied as she placed the letter on the table. She looked up to see Katra’s eyes watering and the woman trying valiantly to keep the tears from flowing.

“Are you-

“Heavily pregnant, yes, how kind of you to notice.” Miriel didn’t bring it up again.

**

Desire had watched the small mage girl for some months now, quietly fuming in the anger. Damn that wolf and his request. She was barely fourteen, a dreamer, and apparently fucking parentless! He had to give them this assignment, he just had to. What? Was everyone else too busy to play babysitter?

The girl practiced a particularly large barrier spell, a rather complex variant of the standard, succeeding as the area lit up in green magic. It held for ten seconds then dissipated as the girl’s enthusiasm and excitement rose. The magic splintered and disintegrated into thousands of tiny crystals as the girl launched herself up into the air, dancing excitedly.

The entirely too young spirit of Wisdom by her side smiled and actually danced along with her, clearly in some sort of parental like affection. A remarkably stupid thing to do for a spirit of Wisdom. But then again, those spirits tended to be unfortunately hopeful. They would attach themselves to those who needed wisdom and guidance and remain there, apparently friends with the poor rudderless fool.

But the girl….

She was only in need of Wisdom because of her age. And upon further inspection, Desire found that it was Wisdom who had sought the girl out – not because she was in need, per se, but he had been lonely. He had desired companionship and had found it in this young girl. He gained a companion and she gained a father figure for her unfortunately parentless existence.

If Desire had an actual heart, it would have twisted in emotion. But as it was, this was the Fade and their form was entirely how they wished it and most of the time a heart was a wild inconvenience.

They knew the girl’s name, Maren Lavellan, sister to the wolf’s vhenan, which would explain a great deal as to why he wanted her protected. They knew that she was this wonderfully powerful little thing and that was probably another reason Solas wanted her protected.

But why them?

Surely there were other spirits more suited to this…gentle line of work. Curiosity, Patience, shit, even Valor would be better suited to the task. Perhaps their age and power made them a better candidate but where was the proper fear that a nearly demonic spirit of desire would harm this sweet little girl?

…

Dammit.

A long exaggerated sigh escaped them and they supposed it was about time they stopped lingering at the edge of her dreams and mind and actually introduced themselves. It was the polite thing to do after all.

They let their form take on a…softer appearance. They rounded their body, got rid of the flames, shrunk the horns…added some purple hair for good measure. Oh! Eyes, eyes were very important in these things, they knew. They shifted their eyes to a peaceful lavender and began to pace at the edge of the grove Maren and Wisdom stood in.

Their footsteps were light, but not to completely conceal them, just to…not alarm. Elves and young spirits could be so jumpy at the slightest indications of threat. And they could certainly be threatening, their power and age alone would probably send that plucky little spirit of Wisdom through the roof, but…not today. Today they were going to be…at least moderately pleasant.

They flowed around the scene once…twice, investigating the place, making sure it was safe for all parties involved. Once the area was secured, they took a step into the meadow. And then another. They made it ten whole steps before Wisdom’s ear twitched and he whipped around, throwing up a barrier between him and the girl and Desire.

“Oh now that is just rude,” Desire purred as they continued their approach. Wisdom shuffled the girl behind him and buffered the barrier. They sighed and waved a hand carelessly, removing the barrier.

“Really, there is no need,” they clarified.

“You cannot have her,” Wisdom was retreating and they felt it prepare to launch Maren out of the Fade just in case.

“I am no threat, really! I come in peace, yada yada, I mean no harm, whatever,” they cocked their hip the side, entirely too happy to simply rile Wisdom, who in turn frowned and tossed up a nice beefy barrier.

“Now this is just getting ridiculous!” Once more they dispelled the barrier…only to find there was some bounce in the barrier. Oh? How interesting, still, even the most agile of defenses could be pierced with the right tool.

The bubble burst and they folded their arms.

“Now will you listen?” They inquired nicely. Wisdom narrowed his eyes until letting out a short breath.

“Speak quickly.”

“Ah! Good, but…I need to see the girl too, you see, she is rather important to why I am here.”

“You cannot have her,” the spirit growled. Now what was this? A spirit just about willing to turn himself into a demon to protect a little mage girl?

“I am not asking to _have_ her, only to…inform her as to who I am and what I am doing. Do not worry, I shall not force you to be away, which is one of the various abilities I have, youngling.” They bared their teeth in an… _informative_ smile, their fangs extending out of their mouth and past their bottom lip.

Wisdom, to his credit, didn’t flinch, but he didn’t relinquish the girl either. Stubborn little spirit.

“It was unwise to come here.”

“And it is unwise for you to turn down protection of this caliber for that tasty little morsel right there, but hey, you’re doing that and you’re a fucking spirit of Wisdom. At least I’m Desire, being unwise is kinda my thing, what excuse do you have?”

“Oh man, Widdy, they’ve got you there.” A small voice from behind the tall spirit. A grin spread across Desire’s face. And the little mage made herself known. Wisdom grimaced at the girl’s voice in an admirable show of parental concern.

“Widdy? That is just precious, Wisdom. Do you let her braid your hair as well?”

“It is an efficient way of learning different braiding techniques,” Wisdom grumbled, his eyes downcast as if embarrassed. Huh.

“Should we not introduce ourselves? Because I feel like we should introduce ourselves,” Desire leaned to the side to get another glimpse of the young girl standing rather awkwardly behind the spirit. Her eyes were full of defiance, her mouth set in a hard line. Desire’s face briefly softened into a more feminine exterior before they realized what they were doing and solidified their form again.

Dammit.

“Hello, little mage, I am Desire.” They grinned after returning their fangs to their normal spot of up and away. The girl shifted on her feet and sighed.

“Giving my name to a demon –

“I’m actually not fully demonic, it is…a curious state of being actually, very precarious.”

“…What? I thought there was only spirit and demon and –

“You are thinking of it like a coin when in reality nature is rarely so defined. Life is messy, little mage, and what I am is…somewhere in between.” Their eyes wavered to black only to shift back into kinder purple eyes once more. Really, what had the wolf been teaching this girl? That the only way to look at things was in black and white? The worlds were painted in hues of grey…and occasionally pink depending on the weather.

The girl regarded them with a distrustful frown, “You could be lying.”

“I could…but what good would that serve me? I am not seeking to possess you; the physical world is entirely too…solid for me. And I doubt your shapeshifting abilities are anything like I desire to keep myself happy.” They inspected their claws, wondering if they should visit that demon of Vanity to get them redone. Were they too long? If they were going to be around this child much, should they have long claws? They supposed they could shift them smaller…but there was a certain level of comfort that came with having a very pretty demon do your claws.

The resulting sex was always good too.

“Again…you could be lying, demons are like that.”

They sighed and held up their right hand while placing their left on their chest where their heart would have been. “I swear on me honor.”

“Demons don’t have any honor.”

“Well, that’s just rude. And inaccurate. I just saw a demon of Scorn who had plenty of honor…kind of the reason she turned into that.” They replied, fluttering their eyelashes. The girl’s brow furrowed and she crossed her arms, removing any contact between her and Wisdom.

“You have yet given me a reason to trust you.”

“I do not lie, little mage. I do not have the metaphorical stomach for it. And if I truly wished to possess your tiny body, I would have done so by now.”

“I would not let you!”

“Oh dear girl, you would not be able to stop me.” They smiled then, showing the potential rows of fangs in their mouth. A lizard like tongue flickered out to her and they let just a little bit of their power leak out and taint the air.

And just like that, the dream changed to a large hall bordered by shiny stone pillars with embedded purple crystals. With a wave of a hand, braziers and chandeliers lit, light bouncing off of the inordinate amount of crystals and gems in the stone in the floor, pillars, and ceiling. Rainbows collided, creating a dazzling array.

Desire strode forward, letting their purple hair grow out in big, bouncing curls. They wrapped the Fade around them until they were dressed a dress of old, draping over their body in fine black and gold silks. They fell back onto a chaise lounge they conjured in a second and sighed.

“You see, little mage, I am old, and I am…remarkably content with what I am for a nearly demonic spirit of Desire. I have no wish to possess you, I give you my word. I, in fact, have a vested interest in you not becoming possessed. And while Wisdom here is very capable in his…Wisdom, having someone like me around could only benefit you.” They kept their voice light, casual even, completely belying the immense power they had just expended in a potentially worthless display.

The small mage looked around her, only appearing amazed for a few moments before returning to her stony façade.

“What is this? Your pleasure dungeon?” She quipped. Desire chuckled darkly and shook their head. Such a clever little thing.

“Silly little thing, I do not have a pleasure dungeon – I have a palace. And this is the west wing, it’s suitable for guests who simply want to take pleasure in food and drink.”

“Nice to know you put away the whips and chains for guests.”

“I am nothing if a gracious and polite host.”

“Da’len, we should not be here. It is unsafe. This part of the Fade is owned by a very powerful demon –

“That would be me, and you know…still not a demon.”

Wisdom scowled at them before turning back to his charge.

“It still stands we should leave. This…creature could be working for someone else, someone who could mean you harm.” He whispered fiercely to her. She cocked her head to the side.

“And who would mean me harm?”

“Magisters…demons with old agendas,” Wisdom was struggling, it was clear. They knew it was not a good idea to remain close to the old, clearly powerful creature of Desire but so far Desire had given no concrete reason for Maren _not_ to speak with them. All he had was his “gut instinct” which accounted for shit since he was a spirit.

Desire reclined more fully on the couch and grinned. Not maliciously of course, more like…gloating. They shifted their clothing again to leather pants and a silk Qunari style boob-holster, or whatever they were called.

“I will assure that no Magister sent me.”

“So you were sent!” Wisdom’s eyes widened and he threw up another barrier around him and Maren. Really? Was that necessary? But then they saw the way he kept putting himself in front of the little mage, how he kept touching her, how he maintained the same form for her every night.

This damn spirit went and got himself attached to a little mortal mage, bollocks. Spirits were such delicate things, really, and with the Veil they had become even more tenuous as even the slightest negative energy could turn them. And this barely weened spirit had gone and got himself attached to a creature that was sure to die, sure to suffer, sure to endure a fate that he could not stand by and watch.

He was a Pride demon waiting to happen.

“I was. Make of that as you will.”

“Who sent you?” Wisdom demanded. Desire slowly unfolded themselves from the cushions and strode forward, trying to find the little mage’s face. Ah, there she was. A ball of light encompassed her hand, glowing brightly with defensive energy. So the little one had teeth. Good, that nature would serve her well.

“A man, like any other who is put in the position to be more.” They smiled, good luck to them to get anything else out of them. It was Solas’s secret to keep, and it was not their place to rat him out.

He was certainly capable of doing that himself.

See? They weren’t a complete asshole, there was some courtesy locked away in there.

“How wonderfully cryptic.” The little mage grumbled. Desire sighed, they were getting nowhere with this.

“Look, I am here to protect you, that is all. Also, I can teach you things that little baby Widdy here hasn’t even heard of. Do you know ancient Elven? Because I do. Do you know classical elven spellcasting techniques? Because I do. Plus, big powerful purple bodyguard. You’ve got to admit it, I am quite the catch.” They smiled and held their hands out in a peace offering, making sure to keep their claws short and non-threatening. It was…more difficult than they cared to admit, maintaining a softer, less hostile form. _She’s a child, don’t frighten her. Channel that little piece of spirithood you still have, for her, she doesn’t need to see you in your demonic form. No. No. Control._

Wisdom continued to scowl at Desire but the little mage moved from behind him and took his hand. She looked up at him with her big hazel eyes and then to Desire.

“There are conditions.” She said.

“Wonderful.”

“If Wisdom says you can’t do something, you can’t do it. He is my guardian, first and foremost. You are, as you said, merely a bodyguard.”

Their eyebrow twitched but they bent their head in recognition, “I wouldn’t have it any other way, kitten.”

“No touching.”

“Wasn’t planning on it anyways.”

“If I say ‘get away from me’ or any variant, you do it.”

“I am a creature of Desire, little mage, not violation. I shall not infringe upon you or Widdy in any way. Not that I wish to.” Their eyes burned and almost shifted into their black pits but they blinked and remained a placid purple.

The little mage paused then, brows coming together as she thought. Ah, she wanted to leave them no loopholes to fly through in some weird way to harm her.

They took a step forward and shrunk themselves so that they were on eye level with her.

“Maren of clan Lavellan, I swear by the little bit of me that remains a spirit that it is not my intention to harm you, or Wisdom. I am here to protect you from the many forces that would try to harm you.” Their voice was deep with seriousness and the little mage narrowed her eyes before taking a long breath.

“Fine.” She stuck her hand out, sparks of unintentional magic floating about her wrist. They stared down at the offered appendage then their gaze flitted up to hers. They cocked their head to the side, how curious, she was inviting their touch.

“Maren, you do not need to shake their hand.” Wisdom whispered in her ear.

“It is true, you do not. The bargain has been struck.”

“Take my hand, please, it is custom.” The little mage said instead of withdrawing her hand. Hmmph. Stubborn little creature.

Cautiously, they touched her hand, wrapping their fingers around her surprisingly soft and delicate appendage. They marveled at the softness, even here in the Fade.

They removed their hand as quickly as they could, unsettled by her nonchalance at touching them. Mages should know better, she should know better, should listen to this ridiculously young Wisdom.

“There…the deal is sealed by whatever measure you have. Now you may leave,” they backed off, waving for her to leave. Wisdom was raring to go, of course, but the little mage stayed and even took a step forward.

“Wait…you…are very gifted with shifting your body. Is that an effect of being what you are or of the Fade?” She asked.  They grinned, their back turned to her, clever little child. They sighed and allowed themselves to grow to a height more suitable for them before turning to her.

“What do you think?”

She hesitated, thought, for a moment, “I think it’s both. But…could…could you teach me? To be like you?”

“Maren! That is quite enough! Accepting their protection is one thing but it is an entirely different thing to accept their power!”

They smiled sadly at her and nodded, “Your spirit is right, you…do not want this, little mage. Enjoy your form.” And with a final wave of their hand, they transported Wisdom and the mage back to their meadow.

That…did not go according to plan.

**

Katra’s due date came…and went. The following days were spent in a tense amount of activity. She walked as much as she could, began drinking odd little potions the old wives club (the healers, but Katra preferred her little moniker for them) swore would help encourage the baby to vacate the premises.

None of them worked.

Neither did jiggling, bouncing, trying to run, or eating spicy food as Bull suggested. Instead she was winded with heartburn and an uncomfortable pressure resting against her cervix. Fenris would try to touch her and she would reflexively hiss. She didn’t want to be touched. She didn’t want to eat. Or drink or any of it!

She wanted to give birth.

She had housed this little creature for nine months as was expected, it was now time for the baby to hold up its end of the bargain and leave its mother’s body. But the baby was proving to be exceptionally stubborn, which should have been expected considering its parents.

Katra began to pester the other mothers in the Keep. How did they encourage their little spawns to leave their womb?

Oh the baby will come out when its ready! They said. Just give it time.

Yeah, well, she had given it its due time. She had thrown up, passed out, passed gas, endured swollen ankles, bans on sex, days spent tilted backwards to stop an almost premature labor, a near miscarriage, and did she mention how she couldn’t have one drop of alcohol during this entire time?

The baby was simply being stubborn, she was certain. _She_ was damn ready to hold her baby outside of her body.

Maker let her go into the labor!

Twelve days passed and there were no signs of labor, not even little practice contractions. The old wives were beginning to get concerned, and Katra was beginning to wonder if her body was even designed to give birth. What, did she suddenly lose the birth canal? Sprout an itty bitty penis where her vagina was supposed to be? No? _Then child, make your way down, your father is eager to meet you._

On the thirteenth day, she left her room and headed for tavern. She could at least spend some time there, eating and watching people be happy and not pregnant. Fenris held her hand and leaned on him, feeling very heavy, full of pressure that just would not abate.

“I can carry –

“Please do not offer to carry me,” she grumbled. He didn’t ask again and they walked slowly to the tavern. The wind was really starting to kick up and the sky looked bleak. There would be a storm then.

They entered the tavern and sat down at their usual table. Thunder rolled across the sky and she felt the low buzz in her lower back. It was to be a great storm apparently. A servant brought them food within the hour and she began to nibble on the bread, one of the few foods that would not aggravate the now nearly persistent heartburn.

Fenris sipped his water, wonderfully abstaining from wine along with her, and rubbed her back. She hummed in delight and arched into his touch.

“Thank you,” she murmured, leaning into him. Fenris smiled and pressed a small kiss to her hair.

Another thunder clap sounded and the buzz in her back seemed to move. She groaned as the pressure inside of her increased, forcing her to stand slowly. She hummed, leaned forward and in an attempt to ease the pressure, flexed her muscles down there, pushing slightly –

“Huh!” She gasped as some of the pressure was relieved, only to…suddenly feel very, very wet. She glanced down to see liquid scattered over the ground and…on Fenris’s feet. To his credit, his eyes only widened in shock.

“Oh…” she breathed, the pressure suddenly returning tenfold.

“ _Ooooh,_ ” she groaned, “I…I am in labor.” She didn’t argue with Fenris when he picked her up and carried her up to their quarters. He sent for the old wives then laid her gently onto the bed. But the pressure felt…not good here. So she awkwardly dragged herself out of the bed and began to pace.

A sudden low burning pain began to spread through her loins and into her back and she gasped, grabbing for the nearest object, which just happened to be Fenris. Her nails dug into his arms but he didn’t protest. He was prepared, he knew what was going to happen, or what should happen at least.

The pain subsided slowly and she slumped forward onto her lover.

The healers arrived quickly and began to help her, smearing tonics onto her back and vulva for pain. They brought water, both warm and cold and they slowly undressed her to nothing more than a frock.

Katra’s labor was slow, her body seemingly unwilling to fully cooperate with the whole cervix dilation thing. She tried to encourage it to go quicker, saying that if it did…the sooner they would never have to do this again, that she and her body could return to normal as soon as the baby was weened, which would happen more quickly if they could just let the baby out.

But her body was apparently intended to take this slowly. Dilating a centimeter an hour. By hour ten, she was leaning against the bed, tired and slicked with sweat. But she was fully dilated and now the wives were telling her to start pushing.

Fenris entwined his hand in hers and she clutched it as she took a deep breath and _pushed_.

A cry escaped her as she willed her body to move the baby.

They told her to push again.

And again.

For two hours she pushed until they suddenly told her to stop.

“The cord is wrapped around the baby’s neck, we need to free the neck. Do not push, Katra, you can do it, just hold youself,” the voice was calm, rational, reasonable – none of which Katra was feeling. She _screamed_ as fingers reached up and began to ease the cord from around the child’s neck, holding her body still as it so desperately needed to continue.

It took at most a minute, but that was enough for her to sob as pain clawed into her back and legs.

“I…I can’t! I have…” she cut herself with a great cry as she pushed again, needing to finally release the pressure.

“We got it, Katra! Now, _push!_ ” She screamed and pushed.

Another hour passed until the baby’s shoulders passed and then….

The pressure was gone with a great slick heave.

“Ah!” She gasped, leaning forward suddenly. But thoughts of herself were suddenly replaced with the silence that persisted in the room.

“Why is there no crying? Why isn’t my baby crying? WHY ISN’T MY BABY CRYING?!” She screamed, fear and panic quickly replaced every ounce of determination in her. She tried to step away from her little birthing area, only to be caught by strong hands.

“We have to have you pass the placenta –

“My baby,” she cried, fresh tears streaming down her face. She couldn’t lose a child, she couldn’t. No, how could she do this? How could she let the baby, the very much alive and moving baby inside of her out into the world? It was dangerous here! Full of evil things that could harm it and –

“AAAAAH!” An infant’s cry filled the air and suddenly everything changed. Her tears changed to joy, her mouth spreading into a large, exhausted smile. The baby was crying. The baby was fine.

“How is –

“She is a happy, healthy little baby! A little drowsy it looks like, but otherwise…she’s perfect,” one of the old wives told her. Katra let her head fall onto the bed and soon the placenta passed. Arms and hands helped her into the bed and suddenly Fenris was there, his arms not wrapping around her like they normally would. She opened her eyes and gazed at the tiny bundle in his arms, squirming around in the blankets.

“Oh,” she whispered, opening her arms to take her daughter from his arms.

“She is…beautiful,” Fenris said, absolutely stunned. This was her daughter, her beautiful, perfect daughter. New tears fell down her cheeks in pure joy.

“Perfect,” she whispered. The baby squirmed and let out a little cry, her already curly hair shifting about her head in a humorous display.

“Oh…hi there,” Katra cooed, bringing her daughter’s face up to hers, “hello my little Macie Beth. Hello. Welcome.” She kissed Macie’s little forehead and held her child in amazement.

_Perfect._

**

A month after little Macie Beth was born, Katra sat in Miriel’s chambers, frowning while the child suckled at her breast.

“I am fit to travel, there is no reason for me to miss Elodie’s wedding!”

“Except for the tiny baby at your breast?” Miriel countered, flexing her left hand. The leather glove creaked as she tried to shake the pain out. _It’s fine, I am fine. Just…a flare up._

Katra rolled her eyes and Miriel could have sworn even the baby gave her sidelong glance. Miriel sighed and held up her hands.

“I am uninterested in you or my brand new niece getting some weird Ferelden mud disease.” Miriel said. Katra leaned back and alright, Miriel was sure the baby was scowling.

“Oh dear, weird Ferelden mud diseases. Did you hear that Macie? We could get weird mud diseases because our beautiful country is disgusting, oh! Yes it is, yes it is! Just listen to the foreigners!” Katra cooed to the baby, who then reached up and grabbed one of Katra’s fingers.

“Katra, that’s not what I meant! I am only concerned for you and Macie.”

“Trust me, between Fenris and I there is plenty of concern to go around. We can travel by carriage, I don’t even have to leave the box, I just…I need to go to this wedding and be happy for Elodie. Plus, it’s a royal wedding, I’ve never seen one.” Katra ruffled her daughter’s hair and looked up at Miriel. Her face was different, softer, a bit more sleep deprived with the bags under her eyes, but there was an obvious happiness and joy to her that…that Miriel was more than slightly envious of.

She twisted her face into a happy smile for her friend and nodded.

“You’re…you’re right, you should be there. And besides, she’s of your relation, you and Macie should be there. But _you_ get to tell Fenris, I am not having that conversation, nope,” Miriel shook her head and moved a piece of parchment to the side. She made to pick up her quill but then looked at the baby and sighed.

Being envious of Katra was ridiculous. She was immensely happy for her friend who deserved this, deserved her little happy family after everything she had been through.

Miriel put the quill away and stepped away from the desk, walking over to Katra.

“Now let me hold my beautiful baby niece!” Katra smiled and handed Miriel Macie.

“Oh but you are so cute! And precious! And smart! Yes! You! Little Macie, oh,” Miriel cooed, cradling Maci close. The baby squirmed happily or maybe she was just trying to get at Miriel’s breast. _Sorry da’len, won’t find anything there._ But Miriel held her close and a gigantic smile spread across her face.

She loved this little baby and she loved her friend. They were all going to Elodie’s wedding and they were going to be happy. Just because she was woefully alone didn’t mean she couldn’t be happy. She would be happy…dammit.

**

In another month, the three women were once again reunited, sitting in a large dressing room. There was no wine, only giggles and fine cheeses and water as they nibbled and fussed over how absolutely radiant Elodie was and how wonderfully happy Katra was.

“Maker, you should have seen his face when I got back, all…taint free. I will never forget the look on his face when he turned around, shocked that it was me. It was the first time since we first met that he couldn’t feel me approaching. Lots of happy tears that night.”

“And happy sex, I hope.” Katra joked, popping a grape into her mouth. Macie huffed a little but Elodie shifted her in her arms, cooing just the slightest bit.

Elodie giggled, “Of course. Oodles and _oodles_ of happy sex.”

“Don’t you think it is a little…inappropriate to talk about this in front of Macie?” Miriel asked.

“Oh it’s fine, infantile amnesia, she won’t remember a thing. Won’t you, Macie? Ah! No, you won’t! Katra, I am stealing your child,” Elodie declared.

“Mm, now that you’re all taint free and happy, _go make your own_ ,” Katra replied, laughing.

“Oh Alistair and I intend to! We have been trying since I got back, figured that if it’s going to take a bit, might as well get married while we’re at it.” Elodie ran a hand through Macie’s curls, sighing in wonder.

“Being a mother is…it is what I dream of now. No Archdemons or normal demons or Blights or any of it. I dream of little babies with Alistair’s nose and my eyes. Little babies with great big hearts and personalities and oh Maker, am I crying? Damn these fertility potions! They make me so emotional.” But she was smiling as she cried, nuzzling and cuddling the little baby in her arms.

Miriel smiled and she felt like her face might crack. She was happy. Very, very happy for her friends.

Her hand suddenly flared with pain and she hissed, trying to shake the magic out. Elodie turned her head quickly to Miriel.

“It hurts?” She asked softly.

“Yes, but it’s not that bad –

“It wasn’t hurting before,” Katra said, watching the offending hand closely. Miriel sighed and reached for her bag, pulling out a glove Dagna had designed. It…was mildly helpful. It kept the flares from hurting anyone around her at least, which was the most important thing, especially with Macie.

She slipped the glove on and flexed her hand.

Elodie’s brow furrowed as she leaned in closely, “You let me take a look later, yes?”

“Of course,” Miriel smiled and watched as Elodie resumed cuddling Macie.

“Is that why you haven’t held Macie in the last month? Because of your hand?” Katra asked softly. Miriel took a deep breath and nodded.

“I won’t hurt the babe.”

“No, she won’t. Come, I will look at it now, Miriel,” Elodie handed Macie to Katra and rose.

They walked through the palace in silence, contemplating the weight of everything around them. Elodie was getting married in two days and the power within Miriel’s hand, once contained, was beginning to flare.

They made their way to one of the rooms adjacent to the castle’s main pool of water. The room was draped in soft, green fabrics while the midday sun poured in from two windows that could be shut easily enough. Shelves lined the walls, crowded with glass jars full of various herbs and other…oddities.

In the center of the room stood a stone wash basin containing glowing water. Miriel looked back up at Elodie and she shrugged.

“Spirits like to…linger around me. There are runs carved into the stone that allow for easier communication with those spirits. It weakens the Veil in a very minute way. This room is warded so that all of that weakness is self-contained, so it won’t hurt anything. Here we go,” Elodie babbled as she took out two chairs.

Miriel plopped down in the one Elodie gestured to then removed the glove.

“Alright, when did the pain begin?”

“Uh, with the Breach, but it only started to flare…three months ago? But it was irregular until a month ago, when we left for Denerim.”

Elodie moved Miriel’s arm gently, inspecting the hand and arms and the Mark with careful diligence.

“Describe the pain.”

“It ranges from dull tingling to twinges to all engulfing sharp pain – when that happens there is usually a great flare of magic too, the Veil tends to bend.”

Elodie’s brow furrowed and she nodded before standing and pulling down several little bottles.

“You…can help with this, right? You’re a spirit healer, you understand how the Fade works.” Miriel asked, hoping against hope that Ellie could somehow control this like…like he could.

But the woman sighed and shook her head.

“I am a _spirit_ healer; I work with spirits rather than the Fade itself. It is like the difference between an anthropologist and a…geologist. The geologist studies the rock the people stand upon while the anthropologist studies the people. That being said, I do have some helpful knowledge concerning the Fade that may be able to help. Other than that I can call upon spirits to see what they know and see if they can assist you. In the meantime, these herbs, imbued with magical healing energies, should help with the pain. The real concern however, are the flashes of power. Is the Well truly of no use to you with controlling it?”

Miriel shook her head, “No. It’s…been unsettling quiet recently. I ask about the Mark and I am met with silence. I ask it about… _him_ and I am met with even more silence. The only thing that I can get it to do is teach me the old elven, and even then, there are words they refuse to tell me, as if the language itself is prioritized knowledge.” Miriel leaned back into the chair as Elodie began her work, murmuring small spells to soothe her and.

She wondered if the flare ups were due to the power she absorbed form the shattered orb when she killed Corypheus…which was now over a year ago.

_So why now?_ She asked again.

Silence.

“Perhaps we can send for a Fade expert, see if they can…control this somehow,” Elodie said once she finished wrapping the hand in soft bandages.

The pain in her flesh subsided but her bones and tendons continued to ache as the Anchor pulsed brightly.

“I…I think we have lost the best person suited for the job,” she whispered.

Solas had been there since the beginning, understanding the Mark in a way no other mage could or did. He was…unique in his knowledge and the way he worked with his magic. Unique in his views of the world and the people within it. He had been so cynical but…hopeful that he was wrong. He had been so knowledgeable about everything and yet had almost ceaselessly sought out most people’s opinions.

Her heart ached, drowning out the slowly dying pain in her hand.

But she shook her head and focused herself, on her hand. She was done crying about it. She was done feeling sorry for herself, and at this point, she just wanted to feel _happy._

Which she did. She was extremely happy for Elodie for being able to marry the man of her dreams. She was endlessly happy for Katra for having a beautiful, healthy child.

Miriel Lavellan was happy.

Elodie gave her a long measured look before beginning to set her tools and jars away.

“There are others who are knowledgeable and quite capable,” she said.

“I…will see them, but you must understand I have doubts.” She flexed her hand again and a little green bubble of magic burst forth.

Elodie watched the bubble carefully.

“Miriel…where did Solas say he was from?”

“A village in the North, it was apparently very dull. He left when he was a young man to explore.” Elodie’s brow furrowed at the explanation. “Why ask?”

There was a long pause before Elodie sighed.

“Do you remember how you escaped Haven?” She asked.

“Of course I do, I…” this time, Miriel’s brow furrowed. She recalled walking through the cave and out into the snow, feeling the cold seep into her bones. And then she found the strength to continue forth until she found the camp of refugees lead by the Commander, Ambassador, and Spymaster.

_That sounds scripted._ Determination piped up.

_But they are my memories…._

Silence once again was her only answer.

“I somehow walked through a blizzard, following the lights of the camp until I got lucky and Cullen found me,” Miriel whispered.

“Alright, what about Sahrnia? What do you remember about Sahrnia?”

A sensation of falling, mostly, which made little sense since she hadn’t fallen…she had been thrown back by that…demon, Imshael….

She…

“It…hurts to think about it. Didn’t you say that I suffered from a severe concussion and that my memory may be lost or altered in some way?” She asked, her skin beginning to prickle at the discomfort.

Elodie’s face softened and she shook her head.

“Of course, forgive me.” But Elodie’s face remained troubled.

“Elodie, if you are concerned about something, I would know it,” Miriel said, angling her head to look at the healer sharply.

“It is simply the fact we know so little about Solas, about his magic and his leaving more than a little suspicious.”

“Suspicious of what? People, particularly apostates, have pasts, it isn’t unheard of.”

“No, but the circumstances are…concerning. Why would the Well spirits not wish to speak about a simple apostate?”

Miriel’s brow furrowed, it was…suspicious, she was right. An easiness filled the space where the spirits normally dwelled.

“What are you suggesting?” Miriel asked and Elodie leaned back.

“When I was in the deep, searching for the cure for this taint, I found a Titan. The mother of all Titans, in fact. I was given…visions on how the red lyrium came to be. Miriel, it is the source of the Blight. Bianca was correct but not entirely, the Blight was born of the red lyrium, not the other way around. And in this vision, it was revealed to me that an elven woman clad in elaborate armor used blood magic to bend the will of the Titan. That is what the blight is – a perversion of will.”

“As incredible of a discovery that is, how is that connected to Solas?” Miriel asked.

“You said yourself that you met ancient elves at the Well of Sorrows and that Tevinter was not responsible for the fall of the elves, that they warred against each other. Miriel, the woman in my vision wanted an army, she needed power and that is why she corrupted the Titan. The orb was elven, Solas expressed sadness at seeing it destroyed, yes?”

“What precisely are you saying?”

“That perhaps he is not what he says he is. He may have more in common with this Abelas or…or well he just may not be what you think he is. His knowledge and insight may be accurate because he is acutely familiar with it. Familiar in a way that only someone who has worked that magic before can be.” Elodie’s voice was soft but her words…pieces began to fall together in Miriel’s head, fitting in together so easily that she kicked herself for not seeing it sooner.

“You think he’s an ancient elf.”

“I think there is a very strong likelihood that he is not what we think he is. Relying on his information and his alone may be dangerous. We’d be wise to seek more opinions on the magic in your hand.”

It felt like there were small creatures slinking inside of Miriel’s mind as the spirits shuffled and moved to keep their secrets. Elodie’s words were worrying them, which made Miriel believe that she was onto something. Her right hand came up to rub at the now familiar pain in her chest. It was…a lot to process.

Solas as an ancient elf made sense. He was so different from all of the other elves she had met, so wondrously knowledgeable and yet unknowing about so many things.

_I do not consider myself to have much in common with the elves,_ he had said after Halamshiral. Creators that felt like an entire life time ago. And perhaps he had reason to not feel particular kinship to the elves…because he was _elvhen_ which was apparently so very different from the modern elves such as herself as Briala and all of the rest.

_You are not my people._

_Shemlen._

Abelas’s words echoed in Miriel’s head. The disdain was more hostile but it resembled the initial reactions Solas had to Miriel whenever she had spoken about the Dalish.

She looked away from Elodie, embarrassed she had not seen it herself. But how could she? She was in love and love created a blindness to certain things.

“It would explain some things,” she whispered, “but…there is nothing to be done about it. It doesn’t change the fact that he is gone and I have no way to find him.”

Elodie sighed and nodded, “I know, and I don’t bring this up to hurt you but to prepare you. The world is shifting and we best be prepared for it.” She took Miriel’s hand again and murmured a healing spell over it, weaving sweet feeling magic over it.

“I don’t want to condemn him without knowing anything,” she said softly, marveling at how the magic sank into her skin and into the Mark. The green of the anchor lightened and the pressure she had felt before abated.

“I am not saying to, only to be prepared as best you can. Solas will turn up at some point, I just hope it is good.” Elodie eyed Miriel’s hand pointedly, making her pull it back into her lap.

She wasn’t sure what to do with this information. Whatever hope she had of finding Solas any time soon was dashed away, he’d show up when he decided to. But she always sort of suspected that. He was so stubborn, not that he’d agree with that sentiment because was _reasonable_ , but he was stubborn and intelligent and did things _he_ wanted and no sooner. She could not will him to appear any more than she could will a home for the Dalish, no matter how hard she tried.

She rose from her chair and headed back to the room with Katra, her head full and her heart aching. It was exhausting, feeling this pain in her heart and head and the helplessness was infuriating. She just wanted it to all stop. But deciding to be happy was easier said than done.

They returned to the room with Katra and Macie, finding the woman to be tossing the small babe up into the air with careful magic.

“Magic doesn’t harm babies does it?” Katra asked, catching Macie. Elodie giggled and shook her head.

“As long as you’re careful. Positive interaction with magic can be a good thing if she turns out to be a mage.”

“Oh I know she’s a mage. Have you seen my family tree? Plus Fenris’s lyrium markings and the fact that he is an elf and his sister is a mage…Macie is most definitely a mage.” The baby wiggled in Katra’s arms happily and Katra kissed her head.

Miriel could forget for a little while, then. She had her friends and her health and there was happiness to be found there. She could learn to be happy again, time healed all wounds after all.

**

The royal palace in Denerim was a flurry of activity for the next two days as structures, flowers, and even sculptures were installed. Servants were running to various places with arms full of linens, flowers, and whatever needed to be distributed throughout the palace. And while it was a madhouse, the servants and various other service people all seemed ridiculously happy.

There was singing, smiling, and even some dancing when the mood struck some. And the joy from the palace radiated out into Denerim and Katra was convinced out into all of Ferelden. And damn could she feel it too.

The pure joy of having her king marry the love of his life, the very Hero of Ferelden. It was a momentous occasion and it did not matter that she was a mage and would be officially called queen, but that she was with Alistair. Katra found herself humming old Ferelden tunes as she changed her daughter’s diaper.

“Oh, Champion, I can do that!” A servant said as she bustled about in the guest room.

“Nah, she’s my daughter, I can change her…but have you seen her father around?”

“Right here,” Fenris said, striding quickly into the room with clothes in his arms.

“They brought us Miriel’s clothes for the day and gave Miriel ours,” he explained, laying the clothes onto the bed. He walked over to the changing table to stroke Macie’s hair affectionately and Katra’s heart warmed. They were both terribly sleep deprived and bickered just a bit more than usual, about stupid petty things too, but the warm happy feeling at watching him with their daughter never went away. And as much as the bickering and fighting happened, she loved him and he loved her, murmuring their own little affectionate words.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek before walking over to the clothes. The servant in the room helped her dress. Fenris was holding Macie by the end of it, nuzzling her and making cooing noises.

Katra chuckled, “You’re wonderful with her.”

“I never thought I would ever want a child. But when I look at her, I cannot imagine anything else.” He kissed the babe’s forehead and Katra leaned her head against his shoulder.

“Hmm, we do have a beautiful family,” Katra said, tickling Macie’s feet. Fenris turned and kissed Katra’s forehead, then passed Macie to her arms so he could dress in the finery for the day.

“I’m excited for the wedding! Alistair and Ellie deserve all of this after everything they have been through.”

“You would think they would want this to be a private affair.”

“I understand it a bit. In a way it is sort of celebrating with all of Ferelden – they saved their country and their country gets to celebrate with them. It is a shame about Anora, though. But at least Elodie and Alistair’s kids will grow up being considered legitimate.”

“Will that not make it difficult for Duncan? Their children could challenge his claim to the throne.”

“Not since Ellie still considers him her son, even if he is born to another woman.” Fenris finished dressing in his simple but well-made attire then joined Katra by the door. He kissed her cheek, then quickly braided his hair before they heading out to the Chantry.

There was a beautiful Ferelden style carriage waiting for them outside of the palace. They piled in, taking a little longer while Katra heaved her skirts and tightly corseted body into the carriage. With the baby, she had taken to wearing corsets less and less, so now that she was back in one, it was more uncomfortable than she remembered.

That and she had gained weight from the baby.

Fenris held the baby close to him and helped Katra as much as possible and finally she made it into the carriage with a huff.

“Andraste’s flaming knickers, I need to lose weight.” She fanned herself as the doors closed. Fenris’s mouth twitched downward before moving so that he was sitting next to her, flush up against her. He kissed down her cheek to her mouth, slipping his tongue into her mouth.

“Do as you wish. You are beautiful regardless.”

They made out for the rest of the short ride.

Katra’s jaw dropped as they entered the chantry. The normally beautiful space was bedecked in splendor and a fuck ton of beautiful flowers. There were white roses, baby’s breath, lilies of the valley, ribbons in light blues and pale golds. The windows were all open, flooding the room in warm light.

It was breathtaking.

Katra and Fenris slowly made their way through the space until they came to their assigned pew. It was up by the front on the bride’s side naturally since Katra was technically related to Ellie.

“This is amazing…” she murmured, still turning her head to look at every little flower and detail.

“I wonder how they preserve the flowers without magic,” Fenris wondered. Katra shrugged.

“I suppose the florists have their ways. I hear there are even more flowers in the gardens and the grand hall in the palace where the reception is planning to take place. I hope nobody has allergies.”

More people began to fill the pews in and suddenly there was very little space on the pew. Fenris and Katra were pressed against each other, little Macie wiggling happily at having both of her parents being so close.

The ceremony began about an hour later with the orchestra beginning to play slow, beautiful music. The Divine stepped up to the altar, standing under a large beautiful canopy with soft falling flowers and sheer white fabric wrapped along the white wood. The doors opened and Zevran stepped through in Ferelden finery. He strode slowly and in step up to the throne while a shorter dwarf with shockingly bright red hair with gray streaks followed. A few other men followed until Alistair himself, in full golden Ferelden armor regalia stepped through the doors. He was clean shaven, bright faced, and absolutely beaming with happiness as he walked down the aisle.

Katra couldn’t help but smile as the men took their places by the altar. They looked dashing in their tailored finery, all clearly happy and even a little…relieved and expectant as they watched the bride’s maids walk down the aisle.

Morrigan was the first to stroll down the aisle, clad in a stunning light blue dress. She looked…completely different in this light, airy ensemble. Even her makeup wasn’t dark, all pale golds and pinks.

That was friendship.

Miriel was the next to walk down the aisle in a matching aqua blue dress with cream and pale gold accents. Her hair was curled and pulled back so that soft waves fell down her back. She smiled at the people in the pews even as her hand twitched around the flowers. A few more women followed Miriel and then it was time.

Everyone rose and the music swelled. A tall figure holding onto a taller but hunched one strode into view at the doors. They stepped into the light revealing the most beautiful bride Katra had ever seen.

Elodie was clad in a huge white ball-gown with glittering lace sleeves and detailing at the collar and all the way down her skirt, coalescing into a long train that flared out for at least seven feet behind her. A lace veil fell over her face and fell down over her back and it was even longer than the train.

A man held onto Elodie, old and hunched but smiling happily as he escorted Elodie down the aisle, slow and steady. His own robes were darker hue of blue but still done in a light and airy style suitable for the beginning of summer.

Elodie’s smile was clear even behind the veil, and soon she was being handed to Alistair and the man escorting her took the last empty seat by the front.

Leliana began the ceremony, a long, extremely traditional one with lots of storytelling and poetic speech about love.

It was right before Alistair’s vows that Fenris cocked his head towards Katra and whispered softly, “We should get married.”

Katra’s eyes widened and she turned to look at the man in confusion.

“What?!” She whispered hotly back. His green eyes met hers and he smiled softly.

“We should get married,” he said more insistently. Her jaw dropped and she fought back tears as she nodded her head.

“Oh…I…really?”

He leaned his forehead against hers and whispered very softly.

“Yes.”

**

“Inquisitor, there is some…troubling news coming out of Val Rayoux.”

A month after Elodie’s wedding and Miriel was back at Skyhold, ready to resume her normal Inquisitorial duties. She stood back in the War Room, listening to her advisors on the happenings while she was away. Apparently it had been nothing good.

“What’s going on?”

“Both Orlais and Ferelden are…concerned over the power of the Inquisition,” Josephine said in her best diplomatic voice.

Miriel’s brow furrowed, “Ferelden is upset? I was just there with its king and lady consort – everyone seemed pretty happy.”

“That may be so, yes, but the lords closer to the border with Orlais and therefore closer to the Inquisition, are rather perturbed about us lingering here.”

Cullen stepped forward, clearly exasperated, “They claim that since the threat of Corypheus and the Breach has passed, it only fits that the Inquisition dissolve.”

“Excuse me? Have we invaded them while I was gone? Have we threatened them or even caused the slightest amount of issue for them? These complaints strike me as very random.”

“They are not exactly random. Arl Teagan of Redcliffe has been writing to us for months about various issues concerning our involvement in Ferelden.” Josephine replied.

“Didn’t we save Redcliffe from the Venatori? And then promptly gave them the castle and the surrounding region back to Ferelden? Without anything like a fight?”

“Yes…but he claims that our usefulness has run its course. And that the acquisition of Caer Bronach and continued use of it is problematic –

“I have a signed letter from King Alistair that permits our use of it since the lord of the manor has been dead since Ostagar!”

Josephine sighed and handed a _large_ stack of papers to Miriel, all apparently grievances put forth from Teagan and various other lords with increasing concerns over the potential threat the Inquisition posed to Ferelden.

“I was their hero’s bride’s maid…” she murmured in response, leafing through all of the letters.

“That does exclude the lords and ladies of the west being afraid.”

“More like xenophobic,” Miriel grumbled as she dropped the stack onto the War Table.

“And what of Orlais? Our alliance is as strong as ever.”

“They…are also concerned but more so of losing us as a supporting force if Ferelden gets its way. Their letters are extremely complimentary, proffering support and they have even sent gifts. Silks, jewels, even a few of the masks made from Boniface de Reille.”

“Ah, they are attempting to endear you to them more than Ferelden so you may continue to give them an edge of their hated dog lords.” Zevran said, inspecting his nails as if bored. Miriel sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

“We are still improving stability in the regions, focusing on rebuilding efforts and creating stable colleges for the mages. We have even opened up negotiations with the Chantry to have Templars cease the use of lyrium because of the intense adverse affects. Our military only sees actions with bandits and much of our force has even been sent back to their homes if they so wish. We are a stabilizing force with strong diplomatic ties – I am failing to see how we are irrelevant and why we are suddenly talking about this now.”

“Because Divine Victoria can no longer stall Ferelden calling an Exalted Council to debate whether the Inquisition should to continue to exist.” Josephine finally said.

The room went quiet and a weird trepidation filled Miriel.

Was…was this to be the end?

She looked around the room at her advisors and realized how different it all was. Cassandra’s hair was a bit longer. Josephine had changed her makeup styles at least seven times in the past two years to fit the trends. She no longer wore gold and purple, but bronze and a blush pink, even her hair was down. Cullen was far less serious, with more laugh lines than worry ones since falling in love with Olivia.

She reached up and touched her own face, remembering the lines that had once graced her features.

It was all different.

Miriel took a deep breath and smiled, “When is this Exalted Council?”

“In two months.”

“Then we have that long to make sure everyone understands how valuable we are.”

**

Fenris and Varas were waiting for her outside of the War Room, eager to go on their daily walk. It had originally just been Varas and Miriel, talking in rapid clan speak about anything and everything. But then Fenris had asked to join to spend some time away from the baby. He loved his daughter but he needed time with grown-ups that weren’t covered in spit up. The other elves didn’t mind.

They head out, talking about what they could do about the impending Exalted Council when she saw him.

_Him._

Her blood went cold and beat too loudly in her ears while she heard everything around her entirely too clearly. All at once, the urge to _run_ seemed to overwhelm her but she couldn’t even properly remove herself from seeing the man who had hurt her over ten years ago.

“Miri?” Varas asked when he felt her stop.

“Inquisitor?” Fenris asked.

“I…I…” she sputtered, unable to vocalize what she saw.

It was him. He was here. Working as a laborer to expand Skyhold.

Mythal, no.

And then the man spoke and Varas’s ear twitched. His brows came together and a low growl pushed itself free from his chest.

“Is that who I think it is?” He asked in a low growl. Miriel nodded and Varas bent down, pulling the large knife out of his boot. It was Fenris who grabbed Varas’s arm, stopping him fast.

“Let me go.”

“Who is this man? What has he done?”

Varas did not respond, just yanked his arm away, standing still.

“He…hurt me.” Miriel said tensely, her body beginning to shake. Fenris looked at her, observed every little tense muscle and then he nodded to Varas.

“Take him alive, he is hers to kill if she chooses.”

“With pleasure.” And then Varas turned and threw the knife at the man. There were screams all around, from people observing the assault to the man himself shouting at the sudden pain of having a knife impaled in his foot.

He screamed.

Miriel’s eyes moved down to his foot where she saw bright red blood bubble up from the wound. He bled. Just like any other man, he bled.

She took a deep breath and while she still shook, she stepped forward. She moved until she was standing in front of the man, face defiant and full of _anger._

“Inquisitor!” The man bemoaned, pointing to Varas. “He attacked me! You should have him arrested! Judged! Executed –

She reached up to his collar and yanked him down so that he had to look up to see her face.

“Do you know who I am?” She asked quietly.

“What? Of course! You’re the Inquisitor – ah!”

“ _Do you know who I am?_ ” She demanded again, turning her face so he could see the scar he had given her. The scar she had seen in the mirror every day since he attacked her. A scar to remind her of what he had done, what she had lived through.

His eyes widened and he began to tremble.

“You? But…how…?”

She smiled cruelly, reflecting either her intentions or fate, she didn’t know.

“Because I am Dalish, and _we never submit._ ” She released him and called for the guards who promptly hauled him to the dungeons. She took in an uneasy breath and felt herself slowly center and threaten to crumble.

_You did well, da’len._

_You should slay him for his insolence._

_Is more violence truly necessary?_

Her answer was simple: _yes._

**

There were certain powers that Solas had missed since waking from his extended slumber. His time with the Inquisition, while it certainly contained some wonderful highlights, had been incredibly frustrating in how limited his powers and abilities had been.

But after taking in Mythal, much of that power had returned, particularly when he dreamed. He reconnected with the fade and sometimes he almost felt like himself. Mythal, at the moment, was quiet, content to slumber and allow him to act he saw fit until he found a suitable vessel for her. He had offered to transport her to Morrigan, but the former evanuris had been oddly reticent. Whatever she was planning, it allowed him great flexibility in the meantime.

And with that flexibility, he frequented Skyhold. With these nearly completely restored powers, he was able to walk the grounds while remaining Veiled within the fade – he walked not as a spirit, but as a fully realized dreamer. He could see things transpire in real time, making him his own greatest spy.

He strode through Skyhold at night, expecting to observe the continued peace and near complacency that had overtaken after Corypheus had been defeated. But instead there were four guards standing watch outside of the prison instead of two, and the tavern was alight with harsh whispers. He stepped into the tavern and leaned in close to a conversation between a tall, dark skinned Dalish man and Fenris.

“I want to gut him like the sick fish-man he is,” the Dalish elf growled.

“He is hers to kill if she so chooses. You should not deprive her of that right.” Fenris said softly, as if he were attempting to soothe the man’s anger.

“I know. And I will let her kill him. I will _revel_ in it, I just wish she had done it right then and there instead of relegating him to judgement for tomorrow.”

Ah, the inquisitor had decided to take a man to trial and there were disagreements. But from what it sounded like, the man in question had wronged not the man speaking but the inquisitor herself.

“I would have done the same thing. He believed for his entire life he took away her power, she is showing him exactly how wrong he is.”

He had taken away her power? Believed this his entire life?

Solas’s eyes widened and his fists clenched. _No._

He turned and stormed out of the tavern, quickly crossing to the prison. He walked through the door and skipped down the steps until he was staring into the only occupied cell.

And there sat the scraggly man from Miriel’s past.

Her rapist.

He stepped into the cell, hands behind his back as he circled the man. He wished to kill this man, to completely rend his soul from his body and turn both to dust. He wished to torture him, make him repent for all the evil he had committed – but he would not.

Fenris was right: this was her kill. Her choice. And he would not deny her that justice owed her for over eleven years now. Instead, he held his hand out and exhaled. He pulled at his memories of Miriel and let himself then dive deeper into the memory to pull out the fear, the terror, panic, and everything she had felt when this man had attacked her. The emotions swirled within him briefly before he allowed them to flow into the man with a message.

_This is what you did. This is her pain that you caused. You. Did. This._

The man woke up screaming and crying and thrashing before rolling over on his side to curl up in a fetal position.

_Dirthara ma._

It was not nearly so satisfying as he wished, but it was a fitting temporary punishment for the pain he inflicted upon Miriel.

He was not so much content to leave but a sound from across the jail made his ear twitch. Solas turned to see a small elf he was unfamiliar with check her surroundings rather conspicuously before ducking in behind what looked to be a false wall in one of the older cells.

Now curious, Solas followed the elf, a familiar uneasiness settling into his stomach that usually indicated something was amiss. With his non-corporeal form, he was able to glide easily through the spaces, keeping with the elf for a long while until she came to a slightly more open area with a few people who appeared to be waiting for the elf.

A qunari man stepped forward and arched his brow at the girl, “Well?”

“An exalted council will be soon called – we are going to need Dragon’s breath sooner rather than later.” She said hastily. The qunari sighed and shook his head.

“The Viddasala will need to be contacted – how tied are you here?”

“Many of the servants know my name as do the head servants.”

“Hmm. Very well. Someone else will notify her. Good work, now return before anyone suspects.”

The elf bowed then quickly stepped back through the walls. Solas stayed behind, confused as he watched the qunari begin to speak in rapid qunlat to his comrades.

_Dragon’s breath?_

_Viddasala?_

_What was the Qun planning?_

When Solas woke, he wasted little time in assembling his own inner circle. He looked over to his leading spy and told him everything about what he had witnessed.

“Dragon’s breath? What do you suspect that means?” The spy asked.

“Nothing good. Now you must find out what the qunari are planning and then we must figure out how to stop it.”

**

To celebrate Corypheus’s defeat and to display the wealth and ability of the Inquisition, Josephine had requisitioned a suit of ceremonial armor for Miriel. It was a magnificent piece with shining gold leafed breastplate and red leathers with deep navy blue accents. A clearly ceremonial piece meant for display and not practical for battle at all, but…it did have metal spikes sprouting from the shoulders, with smaller spikes sprouting from the gauntlets. Her leathers were more comfortable, made for her and her specific type of battle, but this…this was made to intimidate, to showcase the power of the Inquisition.

The suit would do quite nicely at judgment.

Miriel prepared for judgment like she would for a battle the traditional Lavellan way. She drank a red drink made from the juices of pomegranates, raspberries, and halla milk. It stained her mouth red, as if she had been drinking blood. She applied kohl to her eyes, from lashes to brow, before plaiting her hair into a war-braid.

She may not have the Vallaslin of the Dalish – but she looked fiercely Dalish, scowling into the mirror.

Varas had joined her in preparations, imbibing the same drink. She plaited his hair and applied the kohl to his eyes, mindful of the lines of his Vallaslin.

“ _How will you kill him_?” He asked and she shrugged.

“ _I don’t know if I want to kill him at all._ ”

“ _Torture? I will gladly partake in that.”_

_“No. Definitely not torture.”_

_“…You are not forgiving him, are you?”_

_“No. Never. What he did is unforgivable, I am just...unsure of a fitting punishment.”_

_“Death, lethallan.”_

Miriel wanted to believe Varas, wanted to deliver that killing blow – but she was unsure if that would be truly justice or vengeance.

_One may not be so different from the other._ A small voice whispered in her head. It was new and it sounded very distant, as if whispering from across the table. And it was correct – the two may not be mutually exclusive. But penitence and justice were far more connected and if he was penitent…perhaps she could send him to a Chantry where he would have to live the rest of his life as a chanter.

But that didn’t fit either, judging by the ire that filled her.

Very well, this would not be decided upon until judgment after all.

Miriel was a terrifying and beautiful sight to behold as she strode down the stairs and through the Great Hall to sit regally upon her throne. The prisoner was then brought in. Or more accurately, dragged in. He was shaking and crying and from the pungent smell, the man had soiled his breeches multiple times. He was near incoherent with his rambling and crying, but Miriel saw his lips move and her back went rigid.

“Who touched this man,” she demanded. All of the guards shook their heads, all swearing that they had not harmed him. Night patrols reported that he was alone all night and was discovered like this in the morning. No one had harmed him.

Then why was he asking for them to please stop?

Miriel rose from her seat and strode to stand in front of the flinching man. The difference between now and then was so startling she almost could not believe it – but it was all real, all there, and this man had been harmed. Perhaps it had not been the guards, but perhaps a spirit, or a demon, or even a mage loyal to her. This was terror she saw before her, so similar to the one she had felt all those years ago.

She had one of the guards handle the man so he was looking up at her. She continued to frown, hands behind her back as she kept herself calm.

“Who did this to you?”

“Dir-Dir-Dirthara ma!” Was all that he cried, over and over again in great heaving sobs.

Dirthara ma?

_May you learn._

Miriel’s eyes widened briefly and she almost hoped against hope that it was _him_ who did this. That he had somehow walked through dreams to find him last night and break his mind.

And if Solas had found this man…why had he not simply killed him?

_Because he respects you, da’len._

_This is your kill, take it._

Her heart clenched and she took a deep breath. These were emotions that she could deal with later.

Miriel looked back down at the man and sighed – she could not tell if he was truly penitent or if it was merely Solas’s influence, but she did know what he had done to her, and that in a way, death would be a mercy for him at this point.

 “Do you know the crime for which you are charged?” She asked, her voice surprisingly strong.

The man nodded slowly, his nose running as he shook from fear.

“Y-yes, I-I hurt you –

“Raped me. You raped me. Say that. You are a rapist, acknowledge that.” She would not have what happened to her shuffled as ‘hurt’ – it was more than that. Getting slapped hurt. Jamming your finger in a door hurt. But what he did was uniquely damaging and evil – it was _more._

The man hanged his head, “I raped you. I…caused you irreparable pain and loss and, and…I am a rapist. You weren’t the only one. I…I should die. Please, Inquisitor, kill me.” He begged and she sighed.

_Death, lethallan._

He would die – for justice and for mercy.

“I sentence you to hang by the neck until dead, may your god offer the forgiveness you desperately crave.”

And with that, she signaled the guards to take him away to where he would be executed. Miriel took another long breath and steeled herself before following them out.

She waved the executioner away, knowing that this was something she had to do herself. The noose was fitted over his head and down to his neck, but he continued to tremble and cry, occasionally muttering soft apologies and ‘Dirthara ma.’

She placed her hand on the lever and took a slow deep breath.

Miriel had killed many in her time as Inquisitor. She was a killer, fighting everything from Templars, mages, wardens, men, women…but the executions were worse than in the field fighting. It felt more like slaughter than justice or mercy.

But she looked at him and his words drifted back into her head.

She had not been the only one.

How many others had he forced himself on? How many people had suffered at the hands of this man? How many of them were still waiting for their justice?

Her grip tightened on the lever and she pulled.

The man fell and began to writhe and Miriel forced herself to watch the life slowly leech out of the man. The kicks and movement slowly began to cease until the man was at last dead.

She instructed for the men to cut him down and to have him burned.

Miriel left the courtyard, unable to stand and watch as his body was taken away.

**

She ended up sequestering herself in her quarters, only allowing a few of her friends to come and sit with her while she filed paperwork. The pain in her hand would flare every now and then and she took to wearing the glove Dagna had made for her. Soon it was night and she took her dinner in her rooms alongside Varas who was for once quiet. He bumped his shoulder against hers and she sighed, leaning more fully against him.

He asked if she wanted him to stay with her that night. She nodded and soon fell asleep curled up against his tall body.

Slowly her mind drifted into the fade, dreaming of running through a field full of flowers with her mother. It wasn’t a specific memory exactly, more of a wish combining with some memories to form a new idea of her mother – now appearing with little lines around her eyes, put there by her husband no doubt.

Miriel moved through the dream as if moving through water – slow and happy with filtered light and floating hair.

And from the corner of her eye she spied a great white wolf. She stopped and turned, slowly and still smiling.

“Da’Mi!” Her mother cried, waving for Miriel to follow her through the wildflowers. But Miriel looked at the wolf and felt her heart pulled toward it.

She took a step and her mother cried out, “Da’Mi! Run with me!”

Miriel took another step and then another and soon she could no longer hear her mother’s desperate calls for her daughter. When the cries stopped the color seemed to leach from the world and her feet began to sink into the ground, pulling up inky liquid up with her feet as she tried to move toward the wolf.

The creature cocked its head at her and let out a low whine.

_Vhenan…venavis._

“Solas?” She asked, stopping in her tracks to look around, wolf almost forgotten.

_Ar lath ma. Bellanaris._

_Miriel._

She stepped forward again, searching for where his voice was coming from, only to find that the ground beneath her feet had become a sinking sticking mess, pulling her down, down…

_Wake up._

Miriel sat up in bed suddenly awake, chest hammering in her chest.

That had been Solas. He…had told her he loved her.

She clutched her chest and tried to calm the pain there. He loved her.

He was still gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I am working on the next chapter, it's coming, I just don't know when. I've graduated and have more time now, but it is taking some time to get back into things. Thank you for your patience and support! Please leave kudos, comment, bookmark - let me know what you think.


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